Whispers from the depths
by Weiila
Summary: Sequel to And Life gave me Lemons. Broke his leg, lost his gun, out of eco, and there's a new metal head leader in the 'hood. Yep. It's gonna be one of those days. [Complete]
1. Prologue

Whispers from the depths

Prologue

_"Onin says to beware of the withered flower, for its roots still reach the darkness," Pecker said, voice rising and falling to provide drama._

_ Jak and Daxter blankly watched the talking hybrid, while his shriveled up boss finished drawing sparkly symbols in the air with her fingertips._

_"We're supposed to be scared of dead plants?" Daxter finally said._

_ He quickly looked around the tent, and within a second gave a loud shriek._

_"Aaah! Look out, Jak! It's a dried daisy!" he shouted, pointing a violently shaking hand at one of the boughs of herbs hanging down the tent wall, "it's gonna eat us alive!"_

_ Jak rolled his eyes, Pecker pressed a wing against his protruding face, and Onin pursed her lips in a "you're gonna regret making fun of me once it's too late, chum!" look. _

In the moment where Jak found himself right now however, he kept questioning himself why the hell the old hag could not just _explain what she meant so that these kind of things did not frickin' happen_. Oh yeah. "Beware of the withered flower." Thanks a lot, that helped. Really helped.

"Uhm, Jak?" Daxter whispered, "are you okay?"

There were so many things he could have answered to that, most of it profanities. But Jak really needed to save that breath, and use it for something better. For example, the oxygen could be used to fuel the muscles in his burning shoulders, or aching arms, or hands that risked loosing all skin on the palms.

To further add to his discomfort, the leathery vine he held dug its thorns into his flesh and caused tiny red streams to trickle down into his sleeves, adding to the sweat which by now had begun to soak him completely.

Oh yes, he really, really hated that vine. It simply _had_ to be lying there as the recoil from the Peace Maker made him stagger backwards, and cause to him to stumble and fall. Fall over the end of the ledge, too.

At the same time, he had to appreciate the vine's qualities. It at least had the ability to be within reach as he fell, and it was a nice skill it had, to keep him and Daxter suspended in the air instead of plunging into the molten lava thirty feet below. The question was of course how long it would be able to keep doing so before it snapped.

There were no snarls coming from the ledge above them, at least. It seemed like he had managed to get the whole group of hulking metal heads in one shot. Hell, he would know if he had not, by now. Any survivors would have come this way to look for him already, and the morph gun laid up there as a big fat clue.

One thing was certain, and that was that he could not remain here.

Gritting his teeth he curled the vine around his right leg, and carefully removed a bleeding hand from the thorny lifesaver above his head. He reached up, grabbed more thorns, and heaved upwards-

He felt the movement with his whole body, and his heart nearly froze. Immediately he stopped moving. Moments passed, and the vine continued to hold.

There was no way he could make it up before the edge of the stone platform above grinded the vine apart. Jak tried to dab his lips with a sandy tongue. This was what he got for using up his charge of white eco on slowing down the time for the first metal heads he ran into. He really should have known better. But there had been so many of them, and generally he had learnt that it was wiser to save his dark powers for heavier attacks. Yes, so much for tactic. He had stupidly figured that if the front was guarded by such numbers, it would be even worse deeper inside.

At least, it seemed stupid now.

He still felt a small remain of light supply within, but it was not enough to use his wings.

"Dax…" he croaked.

The ottsel gulped, but quickly crawled up Jak's arm and onto the vine.

"I'll be right back!" he promised, trying to sound as cheerful as always.

No reply.

As he hurried up the plant as quickly as he dared, Daxter still took the time to glare at the dry remains of the vine's flowers he passed. They were turning into hard cocoons of seeds now, only brown, torn leaves remaining of the petals.

"Swe-e-et warning, Pecker! Just sweet!" he muttered to himself, "is it really that hard to say something like 'Onin says to look at the floor behind you before you shoot or you'll get one hella deep fried death' instead!"

He cautiously peeked over the edge before clambering onto safer grounds. No metal heads in sight. The morph gun still remained where it had fallen after Jak lost both his balance and grip of the weapon. Before going any further, Daxter turned around and poked his head over the edge to look back at Jak.

"Hang on buddy, I'll find you something more to hold on to!" he called.

"Great!" Jak snarled.

Obviously he was not in the mood for appreciating a good joke. What a bore.

Daxter shrugged and stood up.

"Okay, now for some more plant tentacles…"

He headed for the wall. Several more vines hung down along it, but it was nothing that Daxter could pull down. Muttering under his breath he hurried further down the ledge, trying to keep his eyes open both for dangers and help. For every step he took he grew more alarmed at how far away from Jak he was getting.

The end of the ledge came into sight, and no helpful vine offered. There were only the handful of skull gems left from the group of nasties that Jak had blasted before falling, and they were not that good to use for climbing. Nervously gnashing his teeth, Daxter turned around and hurried back to look in the other direction.

That was when a shadow fell from a ledge above him.

Jak heard the noise, and he knew what it meant long before he looked up.

A grinning metal head looked back, drool dripping from its fangs as it regarded the silhouette of an elf against the floating fire below. It seemed very pleased, indeed. Jak did not.

"Shit, shit, shitshitshitshit…!"

The claws slammed down on the stretched vine, cutting through the living fibers. The already tortured plant could not take any more of it.

It snapped.

"_Jaaak_!"

Jak hardly heard Daxter's shrieking above his own scream as he plunged towards the ocean of molten rock.


	2. Memory

_Disclaimer: _I own nothing and nobody. Except poor Tarry. And Elda. Not that she shows up in this chapter, but later on she will, of course. Everything else belongs to Naughty Dog, that I hope will keep churning out games for many years to come.

_Author's note: _Why yes, yes I know that it was an evil cliffhanger in the prologue. I take lessons in being evil from people like Erol, dear readers. Muhahahahaha…

Also, constructive criticism is always welcome. I try to take everything into consideration to improve my writing :)

Well, it's story time again. Don't say I didn't warn you about being evil.

Chapter 1, The tunnels

But what would Jak be doing dangling above a pit of lava, anyway? Not a very long story, actually.

It had started off easily enough. Unless you counted the popping blood vessels.

"Are you _sure_ there are no metal heads here?"

"Yes, we're sure."

"I mean really, really, _really_ sure?"

"Yes! Trust me!" Jak impatiently snapped.

"Yes, trust him!" Daxter said with a fake, helpful grin, "if there were any of 'em left they would have hopped out and tried to bite Jak's arm off already!"

The middle-aged scientist stared at the two for a moment. Then he suddenly reached into his jacket, ripped out a white bottle, opened it and shook out a heap of pills which he immediately swallowed in one gulp before shoving the bottle back into its original resting place. His quick, jerky movements caused him to remind the watching duo of some kind of chicken, and the long nose hardly helped to stop that image.

The squadron of Blue Guards remained silent, nervously holding their weapons as they took a stand to guard the three possible entrances to the cavern. One of the tunnels might have led up to Haven's slums, but it was a half-hour trek there and you could never trust metal heads not to have illogical shortcuts.

"R-right…" the scientist finally mumbled in a feeble voice, "let's get to work then…"

He took off his backpack and hunched down in front of it, starting to search inside for his equipment. Jak refrained from putting the morph gun away, listening closely to make sure that nothing would come dashing towards them through an eerily lit tunnel.

They had met surprisingly little defense this time as well, especially considering the heavy attack that had come through this tunnel merely four days ago.

It was the second time Jak and Daxter had been in the cavern; they had already gone on a patrol down there together with a smaller group of Blue Guards the other day. But after realizing how far the tunnels stretched, the group of explorers had turned back to report and have a bigger party organized.

And bring a geographer. This underground lair stretched way too far to be left unchecked.

Of course, a guy who only draw maps does not a scientist make. The jittery fellow in the white jacket busied himself with unpacking a small portable table, papers and pencils, as well as a set of small bottles, tweezers and plastic gloves. Jak had to look in another direction, swallowing a putrid taste of bile.

To take his mind off the turn it was taking, he looked up and sniffed the air, once again taking note of the reason that they had brought a guy who was also a geologist. There was a strange, spicy scent hanging in the air. It was so weak that it eluded his attempts to categorize it, but for some reason it made him think of Spargus. Or more precisely, the arena.

It did not quite hurt as much to think of those places anymore, even if the pain still remained. Of course, there was nobody who could completely fill the empty space Damas' had left, but Elda could step onto the void beside the first one. There was somebody whom with he could share his sorrow better than with anybody else, and who offered a connection he had been derived earlier.

And then there was Keira, and her hands gently relaxing his frowns. Their renewed relationship was still fresh, but he firmly believed in it this time.

It put a strain to being in the same room as Ashelin, of course. They had to deal with that, all of them. For the moment he tried not to think about it and instead focus on the possibility that angry, snarling, drooling monsters with feet-long claws could come crashing though the walls. Okay, so they were not exactly _sure_ that there were no metal heads in the area. It was quite impossible to feel that way. But telling such a lie had apparently been the only way to get their jittery scientist working. Speaking which…

Daxter's voice brought Jak out of his status of being on steadfast guard.

"Say, Tarry my good mud boy," the ottsel said, "are you possibly related to Vin?"

The geologist, Tarry, snapped up from his suspicious sneaking towards the nearest wall. He lowered the hands holding a test tube and the aforementioned pair of tweezers as he narrowed his eyes at the ottsel. As he did so, the glasses on the very back of his nose enlarged his eyeballs in a way that rivaled even Samos' technique.

"Vin as the Precurian Theoretical Physics and Eco Grid expert?" he said.

Jak and Daxter exchanged rather blank glances.

"Err, yes," Jak finally said, "I think I heard him say something like that, once."

"Oh no," Tarry said, with a jerky, rooster-like shake of his head, "I knew him from the time at the university, though."

"Let me guess," Daxter said, "same classes?"

"Why, yes!"

Tarry smiled for a second, but suddenly went even more bug-eyed in fear.

"Why, have you checked my files?" he croaked, starting to take tiny step backwards, "that's-that's illegal you know!"

"No-o, just a clever guess," Daxter said, "really."

He added the last as the geologist kept backing away.

For a moment Tarry continued to look skeptical, but he soon jerked up and spun towards the wall. Probably he recalled the fact that the quicker he finished working, the quicker they could get on with the mission and return to the surface.

"Sheez!" Daxter muttered to Jak in a very loud whisper, "we better find that university so we can stay the hell away from it!"

"Hey now!" Tarry protested.

He spun around and waved the tweezers at Daxter.

"I'll have you know that it was a very good university, even if it was largely founded by the Baron!" he declared.

A silence heavy enough to give a man a headache fell. Several of the Blue Guards exchanged glances and began backing away, towards safer grounds. With an eeping sound, Tarry threw his back at the wall.

"Really," Jak said.

No emotion could be read from his face. However, he sounded collected enough and did not move. Daxter still gave him nervous glances.

"Even if! I said even if!" Tarry assured, trying to mold his body to the uneven cavern wall.

Apparently he expected to get a set of black claws in his stomach at any second.

"I heard you," Jak said.

He finally moved, turning away with a disgusted shake of his head.

"What's all the ruckus about?" a voice surrounded by the crackling of electricity and bad connections demanded.

The Blue Guards immediately stopped moving and saluted as Jak's communicator hovered away from his pocket and grew into proper size. From the small TV window, Torn suspiciously peered at the badly lit scene.

"Oh nothing!" Daxter hurriedly reported, "we're just, ah… discussing school memories with Tarry while he works."

"I'm sorry!" the geologist croaked.

Torn raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you shouting about that?" he said.

Silence.

"Ehhh…" Tarry finally started, nervously fidgeting with his equipment.

Jak's patience ran out.

"All of you!" he snapped, running his irritated glare over every last elf in the cavern, "I can control myself. I'm not going to go berserk just because somebody mentions Praxis!"

"Yessir!" the Blue Guards nervously said, automatically raising their hands to their helmets in another salute.

As Jak's irritated focus returned to him, Tarry jumped and quickly spun front to the wall. With slightly shaking hands the geologist began collecting loose pebbles and put them in the small glass tube.

Torn gave an exasperated sigh. It sounded awful through all the sparkles from the speakers.

"Whatever," he said, "what's your status?"

"Surprisingly little resistance," Jak said, "we've reached the cavern without any wounded, even though there were a few smaller attacks. Right now we're waiting for Tarry to do his work."

"Excellent. Just make sure he isn't killed as you proceed," Torn said.

There was a squeak, and Tarry just barely managed to keep from dropping his working tools.

"Sweet precursor huts," Daxter said, looking between the jittery geologist and the floating com link, "what did they _do_ in that university of Praxis'?"

For a moment it looked like Torn would just ignore the needless question, but finally he shrugged.

"They educated a good deal of our specialists," he said, "until the Baron withdrew all their funds in favor of the war."

"Yeah sure, whatever," Daxter said, "as far as I can see they turned people into nervous jellyslugs."

"Hey!" Tarry weakly protested.

The left corner of Torn's lips tilted upwards. The smirk seemed only half-amused, however.

"Actually, I hear one of the head professors was Erol's father," he said.

Jak's eyebrows went up.

"Oh. Oh!" Daxter mumbled.

He stood up and crossed his arms.

"Sheez, Tarry, you just earned sympathy points!" the ottsel said, "I sure hope you did your homework!"

Torn winced. But it was too late.

A nerve started twitching on Tarry's face, while his already pale cheeks lost even more blood.

"Ye-yes, I d-did…" he croaked.

A static smack was heard as Torn slammed a hand into his own face, groaning. Under the perplexed stares of the other elves, Tarry melted down on the floor and curled up in a fetal position.

"I s-swear I di-did-did it, Sir!" he whispered in a quick, manic tone, "I-I-I-I just fo-forgot it in the do-do-dormito-tory, I'll go and- no Sir, please, not the corner, not the corner!"

"Daxter!" Torn snarled.

"Whaat?" the ottsel complained.

"I'm gonna charge you for breaking equipment!"

"You never said anything about the guy having nervous breakdowns!"

"Yes I did! I told you on the briefing not to mention homework around Tarry!"

The word "homework" evoked another senseless whimper from the geologist.

Jak tried to zone out the argument as he massaged his forehead with three fingers. He was getting a headache from trying to decide whether to sympathize with Tarry or just think him a loon like everyone else.

"I don't remember that!" Daxter went on.

"I though even you would have noted it!" Torn snapped back, "I told you _five times_!"

"Really? When?"

But before Torn could start chewing him out again, Daxter countered with a sidetrack in the argument.

"Anyway, do you know what you just did?" he shouted, waving his hands around, "you just doomed me and Jak to go up against a vengeful father further down the plot! That's gonna get sticky, I tell you!"

For a moment, everyone held up their anger and psychoses to give the fourth wall a chance to heal. This one was a tough bugger though, since it had been stretched a few times before in canon.

Finally, Torn drew a deep breath to calm himself.

"Erol's father died five years ago, I attended his funeral. Ashelin did too," he said.

"Yeah, right. Like that ever stopped anyone in that family," Daxter snorted.

"He was cremated."

"Oh. Okay then."

Daxter thought for a moment. The suspicion of what plot may come would not let up so easily.

"What about his mum, then?" he asked.

Torn rolled his eyes.

"Died when giving birth to Erol," he said.

"Whoa, poetic justice. Or does that automatically give him an Oedipus complex(1) or something? What do you think, Jak?"

Jak just growled something unintelligible.

"Sca-ary," Daxter concluded, then turned back to the communicator, "so, did he have siblings?"

Torn's palms slammed down on the table before him.

"No, and the rest of his relatives are all above their seventies!" he snarled, "if you're going to get stalked by some angry family members in this story, then it's not going to be Erol's!"

"Man, you're stingy today," Daxter said and crossed his thin arms.

The communicator hissed and sparked as Torn once again breathed in deeply.

"Somebody slap Tarry back to reality and get a move on before I go down there and give the rat a lobotomy," he snarled through tightly clenched teeth.

Sighing, Jak stepped over to drag the shivering heap that was the geologist back to his feet. This would apparently be a long day.

'-'

(1) Normally I wouldn't use a reference to the real world in a fanfic with no connection to it, but since we were already breaking the fourth wall we might as well do it a little more.

_What? You thought I'd up and let you off the cliffhanger in the prologue just like that? Foolish little pretties, uweeheehee! I'll make you feel _grateful _about that first cliffhanger!_


	3. Planning ahead

_Author's note: _An Oedipus complex is, according to the Columbia Encyclopedia (Sixth Edition, 2001), "Freudian term /…/ designating attraction on the part of the child toward the parent of the opposite sex and rivalry and hostility toward the parent of its own. /…/ Many psychiatrists, while acknowledging the significance of the Oedipal relationships to personality development in our culture, ascribe love and attraction toward one parent and hatred and antagonism toward the other not necessarily to sexual rivalry but to resentment of parental authoritarian power." (the sexual attraction is not meant in an incestous sense, but as part of the child's psychological developement)

"Having" an Oedipus complex is generally (not quite correctly, as you see in the above quote) thought of as a grown man or woman always searching for a parental authority figure in their lovers. Meaning that if Erol had such a complex, he would be looking for a motherly person to love him, and he would (either way, more correctly) have a problem with authority and definitely with rivals. You get my drift.

If you ask me, Freud was full of it and sex-crazed but he managed to conceive a few good expressions.

Chapter 2, The drawing board

"Sulfur?"

"Quite large quantities of it, too," Ashelin said, "according to the first tests."

The whisper of paper was for a short while the only sound heard as she shuffled through Tarry's report. Jak, Daxter, Torn and Samos watched her in the blinking lights of the Freedom HQ main hall, waiting for something more to work with. But she appeared to be engrossed in her eying through the report.

"Meaning?" Jak finally asked.

Ashelin quickly glanced up at him, then back down at the papers.

"The metal heads that dug the tunnels must have passed some volcanic area on their way towards the city, or their base is located in one such," she said, "but there is no volcanic activity around Haven."

"So they might have dug really far down?" Daxter suggested.

It was quite apparent that it took a lot of effort from Ashelin to answer that. She had to agree with something Daxter said.

Ow.

"Maybe," she finally said, reluctantly, "however, according to Tarry the tunnels might stretch all the way to the wasteland."

She gave Jak a quick look again.

"You're going to have to go back down and follow it the whole way," she said.

"We're going to need vehicles for that," Jak said.

"Yes, yes, I know."

They really had done their best. But after walking for two hours through eerily lit tunnels, never knowing when something might jump out and try to chew your throat apart, even Jak had decided to give up. The troop of fighters, as well as Daxter and Tarry had returned without finding the end of the road.

"But it's bothering me that they even made a tunnel," Samos said, rubbing his beard where his chin theoretically should be, "it seems far too organized."

Silence fell over the room.

It was impossible to fight it. One by one, all of the others found their gazes drawn towards Jak, as if he had been some kind of eye magnet.

He began to grin.

Daxter groaned.

Putting the papers on the dark table in the center of the room, Ashelin finally gave Jak a proper look-over.

"Well then, we'll form another party to go with you," she said.

"Heey now, what's with all this careful handling of us all of a sudden?" Daxter jeered, "are you finally realizing our potential?"

"I work best alone," Jak agreed and motioned at the report, "we don't know what's in the end of the tunnel."

"That's why we're giving you backup," Ashelin said, an irritated frown on her forehead.

It should be noted by now that she spent most of her time talking through her teeth.

"What, lack of information never stopped you before," Daxter pointed out.

He pointed at Torn.

"At least not that guy!" he added.

"That was when we thought you were expendable," Torn sourly informed the ottsel, "for all of your later so called crappy missions, we've at least had some vague knowledge of what was ahead."

"Right, this time we don't," Ashelin agreed.

Samos floated up and put a hand on Jak's free shoulder.

"We can obviously assume that there is a new leader for the metal heads, my boy," he said, "and though I see your uncanny interest in that, it would be moronic to just barge in."

Jak gave him a glare.

"I'm not just gonna rush in there with guns blazing," the young warrior said.

This time the silence held another meaning than the last one had done, even if everyone repeated the action of looking at Jak. He frowned slightly, and then glanced to his left to see Daxter giving him the exactly same kind of blank look.

"What?" the blond elf finally snapped, giving the air an irritated whap with both his hands.

Nobody replied. Instead they just found something else to watch.

"Anyway," Ashelin finally said, studying the reports again, "we'll assign a troop of Blue Guards and equipment for a heavy onslaught. This one's going to be dangerous."

"We should call on the wastelanders, if the tunnels reach that far," Jak said.

"We don't know for sure if they do," Ashelin replied.

"Yeah sure, but the wastelanders could mop the desert with your Blue Guards' asses any day from Sunday, babe!" Daxter said.

For this he received a death glare from Torn and a smack over the head from Samos.

"Cut that out!" the sage ordered, raising his voice above Daxter's loud complaining, "there's been a lot of hard work put in the city security!"

"You shouldn't deprive them of their anti-depressants all the time, though!" the ottsel sourly stated, rubbing his aching head, "what do you do to the pills anyway, since you're obviously not taking them yourself? Sold them to Jinx to pay for your fertilizers? And Tattoo Torn, don't make me tell Jak to tell you to put that gun away!"

"I can guarantee that I won't hit you, Jak," Torn said, squinting one eye shut as he aimed, "I practiced a lot on the rat's replica while we were stuck in the harbor."

Jak watched him without blinking, feeling a spark of demented curiosity about whether or not the commander was serious. It was however not strong enough to keep the blond young man from raising a hand in protest.

"Stop it," Ashelin snapped and reached out to push Torn's hand downwards, "there's no time for this!"

Snorting, the commander holstered the gun again. Ashelin glared at him for a moment, then shot Daxter a similar look before crossing her arms.

"We're looking at a dire possibility that there is a new metal head leader down there in the tunnels," she said, "we're going to need the best we've got."

"Damn straight!" Daxter said, patting Jak's blond haircut.

"Torn, you will lead the troops," Ashelin said.

"Yes ma'am," he replied.

That was some heavily drilled obedience right there, judging from the utter lack of reaction apart from the reply.

The governor quickly turned to Jak and began talking again before Daxter had time to start voicing his protests. Wise woman, that.

"Jak, you'll come with them. I also want you to inform the wastelanders about what has happened, and be ready to call them if it seems like the tunnels really does lead to their territory."

Jak began to nod.

"Ya know, wouldn't it be nice to have more people around who can actually handle something that huge?" Daxter said, "if I remember correctly not even the KG co- ow!"

"Preparations to start immediately!" Ashelin said, raising her voice above Daxter and Samos' verbal grappling, "Jak, the wastelanders."

Even as he tiredly glanced at the angry ottsel perched on his shoulder, Jak reached down and produced the shrunk communicator from a pocket. Folded up like it now was, it looked more like a small metallic cube than anything that could send messages. A simple push on the blue button on one of the tiny item's side solved this. With a bussing sound the cube opened up, unfolding and growing into the head-shaped piece of science proudly adorned with a blank TV-screen, all within a couple of seconds.

It really sounded more fancy than it actually was, even if it was quite helpful.

Still not giving Daxter much interest Jak headed over to one of the wide screens along the wall, normally used for surveillance. He picked up a cable curled up on the commando bridge of the closest one and plugged it into his communicator. The huge black screen immediately filled up with dancing white spots, until Jak pushed the correct combination of numbers on the communicator's small display. Then the white dots became flashing horizontal lines instead, hissing angrily at the room for a few moments.

"What's cookin', Jak?"

The lines gave away for a blurry vision of Sig's face. He squinted his visible eye, on his end of the world watching a far smaller screen than the assembly in the Freedom HQ.

"Hey," Jak said, "remember that attack from metal heads in the slums the other day?"

"Yeah?"

Daxter abandoned Samos and instead spun around on his heel to irritated Sig instead.

"We're talking huge stuff again, Siggy my man!" he said, making wide motions with his stick-like arms for emphasis.

Jak quickly explained the situation, leaving Sig with a look mixing disbelief and intrigue.

"You oughta think they're wumpbees or something!" he finally commented, "this sure sounds like- Jak?"

Sig narrowed his eye further, while Daxter leant away from his friend's head, chewing on a finger. Ashelin and Torn raised their eyebrows at Samos groan, but they had no possibility of looking at Jak's expression since he had his back turned to them.

"I'm okay," Jak said.

"Really?" Sig said, "You look kinda-"

"Just fine."

"There's a spasm-"

"Nothing wrong."

"You sure that-"

"Perfect."

The wastelander hesitated for a moment, but finally let it slide.

"Anyway, I'll whoop up something. Keep us informed."

"Will do."

Jak turned off the communicator, reverting the big screen to a dark wall. He turned around and stalked towards the exit with an expressionless face, pocketing the shrinking machinery without looking at it.

"Jak?" Torn said, waving a hand in front of the eco-warrior's face as he passed the commander.

No reaction, apart from Daxter showing Torn a helpless grin.

Ashelin and Torn both looked at Samos, questions apparent in their faces. The sage sighed and waved a hand in the lady's direction, shaking his head.

"Err, well," she said, seeing no answer in sight for the time being, "prepare to move out in five hours, Jak."

"I'll be in the shooting range," he replied.

Not once did he look around. Moments later the doors slid shut behind his back.

"What the hell was that?" Torn asked Samos.

"One moment, please," the sage replied.

He took out his own communicator and dialed a number. Several seconds passed before the line made a hissing sound followed by a female voice speaking.

"Yes, daddy?"

Torn took close note of Ashelin's face hardening, but neither of them said anything.

"Jak's heading for the shooting range with a mental image of metal head wumpbees stuck in his head," Samos told the screen, "deal with that."

"Oh my! Right away!"

With a bleep, the line died. Samos put the communicator away and looked up at the two other elves in the room.

"Don't tell me Jak's afraid of wumpbees?" Ashelin said.

She regarded the sage's shifty look for a moment, then threw out both her hands.

"_Wumpbees_?"

"There was one ordeal on his ninth birthday…" Samos said, sadly shaking his head, "the boy's still a bit edgy about that."

The pair of warriors looked the old man over, searching for the tiniest proof that he was merely making a weird joke. There was none.

"I never thought his only weak point would be that pathetic…" Torn muttered.

He cleared his throat and turned to the table as the risk of a glare from Ashelin seemed impending. The push of a button and the quick input of a code later a computerized female voice spoke up.

"City intercom prepared, commander Torn. Please relay your message after the beep."

The elf waited until said metallic sound had passed before he acted. Now his voice lacked all remains of disbelief, and left was only the strict commanding tone.

"Attention all S-class troops," he said, "this is commander Torn. Assemble in auditorium of Freedom HQ at 900 hours. Further information will be given there."

He pushed the button to signal the end of the message and stepped away from the table, brain already working on how to word the instructions for this mission. They would not be happy at all, especially not since all of the Blue Guards had seen the head of Kor hanging in the Naughty Ottsel.

Of course, Ashelin knew this fully well too. That was why she sent him off on this battle, because that was the only way they could possibly keep the moral high enough among the soldiers.

And then they could just pray that they were not biting off more than they could chew.


	4. Extras

_Author's note: _Huh. The language seems to get much harsher later on than I usually do it, so I guess a warning is in order. Then again, there'll be lots and lots _and lots_ of reasons to cuss, so bear with the boys. Thus ends the shameless waving of the red flag.

Chapter 3, Dream a little dream of peace

Keira rounded the corner and sped down the harbor, as soon as the door to the shooting range came into view taking a sharp turn and swerving her zoomer to a violent halt. Ignoring the shouts about lunacy and impressed whistles from the few pedestrians and workers that had noticed all of her madness, she hopped off the vehicle and headed inside.

Removing the goggles even let her see properly.

"Hey Keira," came a bright, female voice from the other end of the room.

The mechanic waved as she headed over to the command board seated in the wall beside the gun course entrance.

"Morning, Tess," she said.

She looked at the closed doors, hearing the distinct sound of gunfire from inside.

"Jak's in there, I take it?"

"Yep," Tess said, nodding.

She reached into her blond locks with a fuzzy paw and scratched her head.

"Looked like he had seen a ghost, too," she said, "Daxie tried to explain, but Jak wanted to get to the action immediately."

"Of course…"

Sighing softly, Keira leant forwards to check on Jak's progress on the security screen. It was hard to see what was going on in there with all the confetti filling the air, but it looked like he was forcing Daxter to hang on for dear life.

"What's wrong with him this time?" Tess said, leaning her thin form back against the wall.

She tilted her head and sent Keira a sympathetic glance.

"His father again?" she asked.

"No, wumpbees."

There was a pause.

"What?"

Keira gave the female, perplexed ottsel a pained look.

"One thing about Jak that people generally don't know," the mechanic said, "never, ever talk about wumpbees around him. He doesn't like that."

This was pondered for a moment, until Tess came to the conclusion that she really did not want to know. She shook her head and looked back to the screen.

"Rrright, whatever. I'll remember that."

A small smile grazed Keira's lips, despite the mild worry for Jak.

Tess tilted her head.

"Hey, Keira," the blond ottsel said, "you've got something here."

She moved her own hand to her- err, cheek, or something similar.

"Huh? Oh thank- crap."

Keira removed her hand from her cheek after a quick rub, feeling the slick blackness clog itself to her fingertips. This was what she got for scrambling from the area beneath a new model of a zoomer and speed off without even stopping to check her face in a mirror. Motor oil all over.

And in that position she stood, glaring tiredly at her blackened hand, when the doors opened and Jak staggered out of the gun course, gasping for air and with a string of smoke rising from the barrel of the morph gun.

"Okay, time out!" Daxter called from his shoulder, forming a big T by pressing the palm of one hand against the outmost fingertips of the other, "that's quite enough of psychogoing now, big boy!"

Jak rolled his neck with a grimace on his face, then blinked a couple of times before he finally focused enough to spot Keira. The exhausted frown on his forehead began smoothening out.

"Hey," he said.

Keira smiled. No time to waste.

"Hey. Perfect timing!" she said, deciding to ignore the fact that there probably were more smudges on her than the one she had already spread across half her face.

"Hey, what's with the warpaint this evening?" Daxter asked.

This just proved that even though she decided to ignore it did not make her Dax-proof, of course. Things did not get any better when a grin almost split his face in two.

"Got plans for some battling tonight, babe? Rawr! You lucky blighter you, Jak!"

Keira gave him a copyrighted-by-her blank look and then shook her head. She did note the twitch of Jak's eyebrows, but could not tell whether he was irritated or interested.

Ahem.

Stepping closer she unhooked a small package from her belt and unfolded it, expectantly holding it up to Jak. He gazed down at the small gun, resting in a strangely shaped leather sling of some kind. And when it was described as "small", that meant small. He could have sworn the models Keira had played around with herself had been bigger than this, and even they had seemed tiny.

"I perfected the design last night," she said, "I know it looks like a peashooter to you, but it packs a punch, I swear."

"Why that small?" Jak asked.

He leant the morph gun against the wall, then picked the new weapon up and weighed it in his hand. While he did not exactly doubt Keira's word for it, the gun did seem ridiculous in its size.

"I designed it with backup in mind," she explained, poking at it with a finger, "you should be able to hide it beneath your scarf without it showing."

"And then it'll suddenly blow his head off without a second notice?" Daxter asked and threw out his arms at her, "Keira, hon, sweetheart, babe, I thought you were past this age! 'sides, that ain't no manly gun!"

Without a word Jak looked past Keira's shoulder and motioned at Tess. She made a playful salute and quickly stepped on one of the buttons on the command board. Immediately a cardboard Krimzon Guard popped up from the slide in the ground beside Jak's feet. This caused a pause.

"Torn would go ballistic if he knew there were any of these left," Jak finally said.

"Erm, well…" Tess started.

She clasped her hands and gave a nervous giggle.

"We're almost out of stock, I promise. He hasn't noticed it yet," she said.

"Huh."

Jak took a few steps back, Keira scrambling to do the same as he freed the gun from its sling and aimed it at the center of the cardboard head.

A shot rang out and the doll swayed, painted confetti raining down around the remains of it. A real KG would not have been standing after that one.

"_Now_ we're out of stock," Tess informed from the background.

Jak could not help but blink a couple of times. He had heard that these guns actually were effective, but it was the first time he tried one of Keira's "babies".

The proof obviously convinced Daxter as well.

"Swe-eet precursor underwear! Well that just proves once more that the size doesn't matter."

He stood up and waved at a point behind Keira's back, violently winking with one eye.

"Right, Tessy-poo?" he cooed.

"This is better than I expected," Jak said, trying to block out Tess' ultra-sugarcoated reply.

"Great!" Keira said with a huge grin, adding up to the blocking of the other female's voice, "I'm glad you like it."

She took the sling from his other hand and held it up.

"There's no need to worry about it going off on its own," she assured, "I've designed this thing to make absolutely sure that won't happen."

Jak was mere inches from pointing out that he had never needed any extras before, but she looked too enthusiastic for him to break that to her. And as he considered it, in his profession any offered advantage should be tested.

Nodding, he reached up and pulled the scarf from his neck, nearly sweeping Daxter off in the process. With an annoyed sound, the ottsel slid down his partner's arm and headed for the control panel. He had enough animal instincts to tell him when it was a good time to stay out of the way unless he wanted to be flattened by more things than an out of control scarf.

"Now lesse here…"

Keira stood up on her tiptoes and easily slung the leather ribbon around Jak's neck. Even as she fastened the buckle holding it up, the strap rested easily on his shoulders without any risk of getting even close to strangling him. She pulled the sling until it hung down just below Jak's shoulder panzer, trying to ignore the voice in the back of her head shouting that there was something she had forgotten. As she held up her hand without looking, he put the gun in her grip and waited for her to place it in the holster.

"There, that should do… it…"

As she lifted her hands away from the belt, she could not help it. The back of her fingers stroke along the underside of Jak's jaw, causing just the briefest twitch of his eyelids. Strange how that small thing never had a chance escaping her notice – she looked up and met his gaze.

"Hooboy, major fluff alert!" Daxter hissed up to Tess, "let's get outta here before it's too late to save us."

She snorted in amusement and leaped off the control panel, skittering after her darling ottsel as he dashed towards the exit. They slipped out as quick as physically possible, which was quicker than they could have managed if still in their original forms. Hey! Fur and shortness had more advantages than usually known!

They missed out on Keira's gasp and hiss.

"Crap!"

"What is it?" Jak asked, almost taking a step back in surprise at the sudden change.

She stared at her hand, which she had snapped back from his face as if it had burnt her. With a guilty look she showed her palm to him, revealing the oil stains on her fingers.

"I forgot, sorry…"

Jak reached up and rubbed his thumb against the area she had touched, skin sliding over skin far more easy than normal. Holding up the hand he studied the dull darkness now covering his finger.

More of that again?

A horribly discolored handkerchief, which once upon a time might even have been white, came into view and engulfed his whole hand.

"I bet there's some on your clothes after that, too," Keira said, massaging the cloth against his thumb as she spoke, "I'm really sorry, Jak."

He remained still for a moment, narrowing his eyes at the black stain on her cheek. On her, it did not seem that dark. Instead, it called back the times when her face had been prickled with grime, eyes twinkling in excitement as she presented the newest model of her zoomer and almost shoved him onto it, unable to wait even for his own enthusiasm to get him out on a test round. Thrilled giggles with the blue, smog-free sky behind her, long before Haven had pushed onto her the ability to frown and carelessly lined her smooth face.

But she should still have the ability to balance his darkness. He believed so.

"Uh?" Keira mumbled as the handkerchief was swept out of her grip.

Jak took an absentminded hold of her shoulder to steady her as he pressed the cloth against the blemish on her cheek. It became apparent rather quickly that the best he could perform was to make the smudge more grey than black.

"Don't worry about that, we'll need something to remove it," Keira said, "I've got stuff for it back at my place. I'll try to get your clothes clean too, I promise."

"It's nothing."

_"It's hardly the worst I've ever been stained with,"_ remained unsaid, but the thought was apparent from the way his gaze wandered away.

"Jak…"

She gently picked the cloth from his hand and pressed it against the stain on his jaw. Jak's head tilted to the side from the light push. He looked down at her, his lips curling upwards from the way her eyes narrowed in determination at the simple task of getting rid of the smudge.

"Didn't you say it wouldn't come off that way?" he said.

"I can try, can't I?"

"Yeah, sure…"

At all times she was aware of his hand still on her shoulder, especially when it moved up to her cheek. Fingertips worn from careless treatment and dirty work brushed against the base of her ear.

Keira looked up into Jak's blue eyes, lowering the cloth from his jaw as she tilted her face upwards.

The door slid open.

"Jak! Pecker says to- whoops!"

Daxter gulped as he met Jak's glare, from the corner of his eye seeing a big hand fly towards the morph gun.

"I'll uh… wait a little longer," the ottsel quickly said and backed out.

The door closed again, but Jak kept scowling towards it.

"It's a curse, isn't it?" he finally said.

Keira buried her clean hand in his hair and pushed his lips down to hers.

Funny how much nicer the dirty room smelling of gunpowder and oil suddenly seemed, even with her back against the cold wall. Because Jak was warm, and Keira was a lot softer than the harsh world around both of them.

Just a brief moment of peace before heading back out there again, to see whatever Pecker wanted to see him about, and before heading off on the mission. Then maybe, just maybe the demons in his mind would remind silent a little longer.


	5. Path to the cleft

_Author's note: _Whoa. I haven't written such a long chapter in ages. How nice. But it makes the coming ones seem almost pathetic since they'll be so much shorter… oh well. I'll just take this moment to wave my hand and tip my hat to Demyrie, who's keeping me on my toes with her excellent writing. I think I'll try Jak/Daxter sometime. They're cute! I think there are some vibes of that in this chapter, actually… I'm positively high on the J/D. Poor Keira.

Also, roses and hugs to all my reviewers. I love ya! Promise I'll churn out chapters at a faster rate now. Just gonna torture you with a little patience practices first… muhahaha. Hate me.

Chapter 4, Into the darkness

Blue guards were running about across the cracked streets of the slums, hurriedly packing the last of their gear into the armed hovers that would bring them through the metal head tunnel. Jak had hardly gotten off his zoomer before a shout directed him to the hellcat cruiser parked in the front. Lightly waving a hand he headed closer to it, returning the gaze of the man in the driver's seat. The other seat was already taken by a heavy-fire BG morphgun.

"I hope you're all set, Jak, because if anything goes wrong here I'll skin you alive," Torn said.

"Oh, thanks for the warm greeting," Daxter said, sourly crossing his arms, "that really puts me into the right mood."

"I'm always set," Jak said.

He easily climbed onto the back of the cruiser and sat down on the seat behind the waiting cannon. As soon as he was in position he gave Torn a thumbs up. The commander nodded and reached for the engine key of the vehicle, when something else Jak said made him glance over his shoulder again.

"Just tell me if you see any dead flowers."

There was a pause.

"Care to elaborate on why you're wasting time on the local wildlife?" Torn asked.

"Just something Onin said."

"Huh."

Shrugging, Torn started up the engine of the cruiser, and it obediently rose from the ground.

"Head out!" he called above the steady buzz.

"Yessir!" came a choir of men's voices from behind.

More engines started up, following Torn as he steered the hellcat sharply upwards and then down again in a wide arc, masterfully maneuvering the vehicle into the large hole in the middle of the street and into the dusk.

Jak made sure that he had a good grip of the control handles of the canon before he leant back and prepared for a few hours of monsters, violence, aggravation and smirks.

Three hours later the body count of metal heads had reached almost fifty, the damages of the cruisers were at a minimum, Torn had threatened Daxter with bodily harm fourteen times and waved his dagger at the ottsel twice.

All in all, things were going smoothly.

Almost too smoothly. And that did not include the fact that Daxter still had not reached his minimum quota of snarls from the commander for the timeframe.

"Should there normally be so few metal heads around in their own lairs?" Torn asked at one point, without looking around.

Jak shook his head automatically, even if the asking one could not see it.

"They normally protect every last inch of their lairs like crazy," he said, "I was wondering about that last time we were down here."

"I don't like it."

"Well this place _is_ huge!" Daxter pointed out, "maybe they're…"

"… assembling further ahead," Jak finished.

Daxter's ears perked up violently before falling down, tightly pressed against his head.

"Meep…" he mumbled and dove for cover behind Jak's head.

"Just beautiful…" Torn muttered.

He pursed his mouth and glared at the tunnel ahead. Strange, glowing moss cast an eerie light across the underground world, but it was not strong enough to make the dusk go away completely. Beyond the reach of the cruiser's headlights, a stubborn darkness stretched out.

On the other hand, there were a few advantages offered by the bad illumination.

Torn's ears twitched as he saw a speck of yellow in the darkness, a moving flare of dirty light coming closer with mighty leaps. A shot rang out before the commander even had time to raise his hand in a signal, and he threw a glance over his shoulder. Jak grinned, a cackling ottsel perched on his shoulder.

"I'm so proud, he's taken all my lessons to heart," Daxter said, patting the tanned temple beside his own fuzzy ear.

While he did roll his eyes, Jak's grin did not waver. Shaking his head, Torn returned to the path in front of them. He was not about to hand out even the smallest splinters of praise, even if there might be a little reason for it.

Just a little.

Five death threats later, Torn gave the cussing at Daxter a rest and turned his head to look at Jak instead.

"It's getting warmer," the commander said.

Tilting his face upwards a little, Jak sniffed the air. Burnt. A quick lick of his lips, and he felt the taste matching the smell.

"We're closing in," he concluded, and bent his head slightly to make it easier for Daxter to hide.

Mere minutes after this statement they spotted the faint glow ahead, the light at the end of the tunnel. Not that it promised any good things – well, apart from giving Torn one less reason to kill Daxter. For now.

Torn reached for the command board of the hellcat and unhooked the microphone connected to the radio. Pushing the big red button, he lifted the square-shaped item to his face.

"Attention, we seem to be nearing the end of the path. Be prepared for possible counterattacks."

A few positive replies followed each other through the speakers.

Jak absentmindedly reached for his morph gun as the light came closer and closer, tapping at the familiar frame with his fingertips. In the same movement he swept his hand up and checked for the extra gun he had gotten from Keira. From what he could tell the scarf hid it perfectly.

Bring it on.

Soon enough the glow ahead became an opening at the end of the tunnel, and the closer they came Jak realized that the view on the other side looked familiar.

Torn eyed what remained of the tunnel, only about sixty paces. He grabbed the microphone again.

"Prepare for halt!"

"Yessir!" came a choir from the radio.

The caravan slowed down and soon touched ground, only twenty paces from the edge.

Jak squinted ahead, studying the series of ledges illuminated from below by a red blaze. There was quite a distance between their side and the area he looked at, but he was still certain that he had seen it before.

Yep, no doubt about it. He leant forwards, looking at the back of Torn's head.

"It's the great volcano, in the wasteland," Jak said.

"You sure?" Torn asked without moving.

"Yes."

"Hmph."

Torn swung himself out of the still buzzing hellcat while Jak slid down the back of the same and onto the ground. Not for a moment did Daxter move from the remotely safe shoulder.

Only pausing for a moment, Torn grabbed the gun lying on the other seat of the cruiser. A few powerful strides brought him into sight of the disembarking soldiers, pebbles and sand crunching below his boots. He spun towards them on his heel, gun resting on his shoulder and the free fist on his waist. The scene was topped off with the red illumination from the area behind him giving the brown dreadlocks a crimson glow.

"Like a poker," Daxter muttered, leaning his chin in a paw, "suits his personality."

He was probably lucky that only Jak heard it, because the soldiers seemed far more impressed with their commander's strict appearance. Hard boots clacked into each other as the Blue Guards leapt into saluting stances. Torn nodded, then raised his free hand. His voice whipped through the air.

"Group one and two, follow me! The rest of you stay here!"

"Yessir!"

As he turned around again, Torn threw a glance towards Jak and made a commanding motion with his hand.

You too.

Jak simply shrugged and followed the leading man, a mighty trample of feet moving behind them.

"We're just going to take a look, but be prepared for anything," the commander clarified.

A choir of drilled voices answered him with another "Yessir".

Daxter opened his mouth, but closed it again after a warning glance from Jak. It was just too easy.

As soon as Torn moved the gun from his shoulder and into a more prepared position, metal clattered against armor as the soldiers mimicked his movements. Jak followed suit, though more casually than the others.

But even his green eyebrows twitched when he stepped up to the edge and took a proper look at the area beneath.

Metal heads.

Well, that was not such a surprise. The surprise was the amount.

"Okay, whoever's on the cloning machine is fired!" Daxter declared and dove into Jak's hair.

Dark bodies littered the ledges on the other side of the lava pool, skull gems competing with the firelight in their dirty illumination. There had to be at least three hundred of them. The laid-back snarls could be heard even from this distance.

From the opening where the elves stood, a clumsy "stair" went down to another hole in the wall a little ways below. From the look of it, the steep ledge had been carved out of the wall by the metal heads – claw marks littered the stone and it was actually more of an open tunnel. At least, it seemed like no monsters were on their way up there.

"Looks like an invitation, if you ask me," Jak muttered to Torn.

"I don't like it."

They both scanned the area for another moment, eyes steadily narrowing. Finally, the commander turned to his troops, who all straightened up like a band of marionettes.

"You stay here and keep those things out of here until further notice," Torn said, two fingers cutting at the air before the nearest masks.

"Understood, Sir."

They made way for their leader as he stepped forwards, motioning at Jak to follow again.

"Sheesh! Make up your mind already…" Daxter grunted from the safety behind his friend's blond burr.

Torn ignored him. Even as he walked he began motioning at the troops still stationed by the cruisers.

"Move your asses! I want group three guarding our back, group one and two are staying at the entrance, extras set up the equipment. Jak-"

He looked over his shoulder, but kept walking. In the area before him the remaining soldiers scurried to follow the orders.

"Let's see if your map's any good."

He led the blond warrior over to where a Blue Guard was flicking away at the portable com-center hefted onto one of the hovers. The front of the helmet turned towards Torn and Jak as the two elves stepped closer.

"I'm sure it's the great volcano," the blonde said and waved at the computer, "try code J-WL03."

"Understood, Sir," the Blue Guard said.

The tips of his gloves drummed against the keyboard, and with a blip the big screen in front of him flared up with green lines.

"Position confirmed, commander."

The soldier turned the screen slightly, pointing at a pulsating emerald dot on the left side of it. Jak nodded when he saw the familiar map and the affirmation that they were just outside of the information he had provided the central server in Haven.

"You want the wastelanders here?" he asked, turning to Torn.

Even though he did not look completely happy about this, the commander pursed his lips and nodded.

"Ah, now we're talkin'!" Daxter said, sounding quite relieved.

He answered to Torn's glare with a grin. Even if the ottsel might not be so hot about most of the ruffians, he knew to appreciate their battle abilities. Strong allies means less to worry about. Strong allies is _Good Thing_.

Jak was already dialing on his communicator when Torn and Daxter had worked their way through another tiny part of the private war.

From the speed of the reply, it seemed like the man on the other end of the line had been waiting for the call. The familiar face popped onto the screen almost before Jak had hit the last button.

"There you are!" Sig said, "how's the hunt?"

"We seem to be in the volcano, southwestern side according to the map," Jak replied, "the place is crawling with metal heads."

The dark-skinned fellow on the line nodded, a small grin creeping onto his lips. The blonde watching this mirrored the face.

"On our way, then. Over and out."

Sig's face disappeared from the screen, being replaced by blankness.

A hand on his wrist stopped Jak as he was about to put the piece of machinery away again.

"Hand him your communicator for a sec," Torn told the blonde, motioning at the soldier.

The order was a bit surprising, but with a shrug the hero did as he was told. The Blue Guard quickly hooked the smaller piece of technology to the bigger with a cable, and began dialing away at both sets of keyboards separately. Meanwhile, Torn leaned in a little closer.

"Okay, here's the deal," he said, "we're gonna need somebody to scout the area."

"Hooboy! So now we're appetizers?" Daxter complained.

"Exactly," Torn agreed, shooting a smirk at the orange wonder.

In the background, the Guard pulled the communicator free from the cable and experimentally pushed a couple of its buttons. The screen before him lit up, and he turned back to the people on the ground.

"All set, Sir," he said and offered Jak the small piece of equipment back.

"What now?" the blond fellow asked.

He peered at the dark screen and board of numbers. Nothing seemed to have changed.

"I want you to take a quick look around," Torn clarified, "without going blasting off on your own."

He tapped a fingertip against the side of the communicator.

"We just had a quick pick installed on this piece of crap," he said, "if you run into anything that you need to report, _anything at all_, Jak, you just push square, one, and you'll be linked straight back here."

Jak experimentally pushed down at the set buttons, and the screen set atop the hover sparkled up again. The Blue Guard turned to it and made a thumbs up, the same figure and movement being displayed on the small screen in Jak's hand.

"Cool, useful technology for once!" Daxter said, pumping his fists into the air in a mocked dance of victory, "news at eleven, read all about it! Something around here _works_!"

With a mild roll of his eyes and shake of his head Jak turned towards the entrance to the volcano, taking the morph gun from his back while he walked.

"You got me, Jak?" Torn sharply said, "be careful. You're not alone on this one."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Jak gave a wave over his shoulder and passed through the group of Blue Guards standing by the hole. He pulled the morph gun from its holster and set it to Beam Reflexor before heading down the offered path.

Throwing a glance across the distance to the other side, he once again had to conclude that it was too far to snipe. It seemed like none of the monsters had spotted him yet, either. On the other hand he had concluded a long time ago that the metal heads' eyesight overall seemed to be quite bad. Only those specializing in ranged attacks tended to spot him on a longer distance.

For a moment he played with the thought of simply flying over there, but cast it aside. Torn expected him to find a way that would suit everyone.

He slowed down halfway down the path, and moved up with his back against the rounded wall. As he continued further downwards he strained his ears to the outmost. No snarls seemed to be coming from the opening ahead. However, he did pick up on another sound.

"You okay?" he whispered, giving Daxter a light push with his cheek.

The ottsel gulped and nodded. Pressing a paw against his fuzzy chest he tried to command his heart to slow down a few notches. But there was something in the air, _something_ that tried to inform his sixth animal sense that there was _something_ very, very bad ahead in the near future.

"Don't worry, just help me look out for dead flowers," Jak said, "okay?"

He grinned, trying to encourage the nervous chuckle that Daxter managed to produce.

"Right, then let's rock."

Jak slid the last few feet down to the opening. He leant forwards to peek around the corner, grabbing and holding back the long ear that threatened to make him far more visible than he desired.

The light from the lava and dulled sunlight from above only reached a few yards inside, and after that blackness claimed the crown of the path. Jak straightened up and aimed his gun at the inner wall. The silencer took out the worst bang, and the bullet smashed into the rock, bounced and continued into the tunnel like a speck of crazed light. Jak followed its flight with his gaze, taking note of when the bullet suddenly disappeared. Corner.

Even if he could no longer see the projectile he could still hear it, the echo multiplying the tiny pings of metal against rock. After only a few more moments it stopped, however – not even with such advanced technology could the bullet continue defying the laws of nature forever. From the sound of it there had been nothing living hit, though. Might just be luck.

Ears twitching, Jak slipped into the tunnel with his morph gun ready to fire at the slightest sound. Darkness swallowed him and the ottsel perched on his shoulder, the laser eye of the gun marking the turn of the cave with a red dot on the wall ahead of them. Even the speck of color did not summon any snarls of approaching beasts.

The dusk ruled, but only for a few steps. As he neared the turning point, Jak's eyes had already begun to grow accustomed to the dusk. Careless instincts urged him to move faster, to face off his enemies like they faced him – equally brutal. They were ruthless, he needed to be even more so if he hoped to live. But no. No…

_"Patience is a warrior's greatest weapon. Do you understand?"_

The memory was stronger. Jak closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. The dam of bleak images swirled in the back of his mind, stirred by the defiant act of touching a light memory – but he wrestled them back down. Above all that darkness, there were other things, things he would rather call back and keep safe from the mad rush of locked up agony. If he could only hold on to those, they could protect him from the rest.

_Stern eyes trying not to give away concern, my words stirred something in him too, suits him right – light slipping from eyes, body slumping- no! There was a hand on my shoulder once, just once-_

Another deep breath and he was fine again. Just holding on to the memory of fingers grazing the torn remain of cloth on his shoulder, rough thumb briefly touching skin – skin of the same skin. Then he could live with himself for another while, even though the darker taint of the past shook its filthy tentacles in his mind.

The corners of his lips tilted upwards slightly as he felt a fuzzy little shoulder bouncing against his long earlobe. Daxter had noticed the change and would pull Jak's blonde hair if needed to bring him back in gear.

"No sweat," Jak whispered.

"That's good to know, buddy boy, 'cause I'm getting soaked in that, myself. And with fur, that ain't cool."

"Then shouldn't you be letting your tongue hang or something, instead?"

The elf smirked at the snort in the blackness.

"Oh fun, ha, ha," Daxter grunted.

The shoulder disappeared from the ear; Jak could easily envision the stick-arms crossing beneath the pout. He had seen it a million times, and knew what came next. And it did.

"First, I'm no crocadog. Second, I'm already burning up and itchy, I ain't _hot_ on getting my mouth full of sulfur, pal. You try it first."

Moving his head to the side, Jak gave the ottsel another light puff with the side of his head.

"Shall we get this over with, then?" the blonde said.

"Gladly!"

Jak smirked at the darkness and stepped around the corner, holding one hand to the shadow of the wall to orient himself. A few more steps and…

His fingers and palm met empty air. Steps echoed louder than before – he could both hear and feel the tunnel cutting off into a bigger cave.

What service.

His ears twitched in the next moment, because there was another sound mingling with the echo of his boot on the ground. The scraping of claws on rock, and snarling breaths sniffing at the air.

When eyesight is bad, creatures do tend to work better with nose and ears, such is nature's way. And somewhere in the dark were some creatures obeying that rule.

Daxter eeped. The snarling turned into outright growling, and the scraping intensified. They must have noticed the red light now as well, even if Jak quickly had moved his hand to block it.

Scratch "some" in that "creatures". Skull gems by the dozen tumbled from the void ahead, ground level and far above, diving onto the cave floor with the heavy crash of armored bodies making use of gravity. Their lazy glow only faintly illuminated the beady eyes below, and their hunger.

Jak never hesitated on what to do – only which one of the two paths to take. The morph gun flew to its holster and he took a cautious step back. He could have set the gun to Arc Wielder, but the radical transformation would have demanded at least five seconds he did not have.

Light or dark?

Once the darkness would have roared to be let out, but not now. The two sides warbled equally, both calling to his mind and keeping each other from forcing their way through.

The metal heads hurled themselves forwards, hoarse roars ringing through the thick air. There was no time to think- time. So be it.

Jak merely nodded his mind in the right direction, and a tingle ran through his entire body. The onslaught coming towards him seemed to calm, slowing to a lazy slump forwards.

Changing into his Light self had no relation to the plunging into the Dark – that should be no surprise. Where dark eco filled up his head with thick muck as it spread across his skin, the light slipped through him in a pleasant caress, clearing everything except the focus on what laid ahead.

He spun forwards, fist connecting with the black face of the first beast. It grunted and fell back, to his eyes in slow motion. They were all too slow, falling to such easy means as his bare fists. So much like the lurkers, a lifetime ago – things were simple then… things were simple now, if only for a brief time.

His own light shed knowledge of the cavern, illuminating the sluggish metal heads struggling to counter his all too quick attacks. He briefly took note of the smaller caves they had been hiding in, ledges far above as well. It had been a trap? Huh. For who, eh?

If he had just been the slightest bit romantic, Jak might have felt inclined to call the unfair battle a dance. But he saw the gore; crushed skulls and broken bones soon littering the floor as the flesh evaporated in dark eco. Better they than him and Daxter. Never the partners, never.

In all probability it was over far sooner than he thought. The last dying snarl sped up to a normal gasp as he touched down and the light beaming from his entire being fading into obscurity again. Jak stumbled forwards, leaning against the invisible cave wall and gasping for air for a short while. It was always easy until he stopped moving.

"Hah! Up yours, losers!" Daxter's voice jabbed at the unseen remains.

Easy to be tough in the face of stuff that just lost all ability to return the favor. Jak felt his lips twitch again.

Straightening up, he pulled out the morph gun again. For a moment he debated with himself, but finally let the last mod remain. During the battle he had taken note of another tunnel opening up on the other end of the cavern; that was the next step on the way and he felt safer sending in a bouncing bullet first.

He stood still, waiting for his eyes to pick up on the illumination of the discarded skull gems. There were no time to collect them, and he did not really care. They did work fine to shed a little light, though.

As soon as he could see well enough to spot the tunnel again he moved forwards. A few quick strides brought him up to the new path and he raised the gun to fire at the wall.

Bam. Ting-ting-ting-ting, ting, ting… ting…

Nothing. Except Daxter's nervous gulp as his transportation continued forwards, into the darkness again.

Somewhere in the back of his head Jak mused on the fact that he was a lousy scout. Those were not really supposed to clean everything out on their own, now were they? Oh well… he would just continue a little bit further, then he would make Torn happy – well, something along those lines – by coming back to bring the rest of the troop into the battle.

Bah. It was definitely not his style. But this time he had no gun of Mar to blast a path open. Might want to consider fixing that whenever he went back and started messing up the past… ugh. Jak cut the thoughts off before he got himself dizzy trying to figure out his role in the timeline again. Whatever happened, he would just deal with it when some freak accident or whatever it would be threw him there. Daxter and Keira better hang on when that "time came", though. He was fed up with separations.

He shook it off and looked at the void ahead. The skull gems did not reach this far, but he could not carry one and at the same time hold his gun properly. Daxter could not help with that either – the gems were too big for him.

And so, the hero ventured through the darkness, leaning one arm against the wall and moving slowly in case there would be holes in the ground. Minutes passed without anything happening, and Jak began to realize that he might be moving far further than he had counted on.

The theory was proven as he finally saw a light ahead and soon stepped onto a ledge sticking out of the volcano's wall. The heat picked up further as he left the tunnel, and the lava pit spread out far beneath. Jak squinted, and saw a speck of blue against all the red, black and brown on the other side of the hot expanse of air. The tunnel actually led to the other side of the volcano.

He looked up. Uneven platforms and sturdy vines, braving the intense heat of the fire. The snarls were louder now. Far up there, he knew there would be a plateau, with the petrified remains of an unlucky monk. Where the Dark Maker satellite had crashed.

Sounded ideal, really. Hmm…

Jak weighed back and forth on his heels a couple of times.

Oh, what the hell.

He expected Daxter to start protesting as the blonde set his eyes on the nearest ledge, just a leap of a couple of feet away… but the ottsel remained quiet, clenching his white teeth tightly against each other in tense silence. Something dark and muscular turned around a couple of leaps ahead, and dashed towards them with a vicious roar.

"Not that much farther, promise," Jak assured Daxter, and took aim.

"Yeah, sure big guy…"

Daxter knew his pal, but promised himself to talk him out of going too far alone. Even if they surely could beat even a new metal head leader up on their own, it would be way, _way_ more scary to explain that to Torn afterwards. Tattooed wonder would probably bust a vessel, but not before biting off a couple of heads.

Such was the plan, until Jak clambered onto that big ledge and was spotted by a larger group of big metal heads. They were far away, but unlike the last three attacks they were on the same level and would not have to waste time leaping across spans of empty, distracting air.

Jak had already seen them before getting onto the same level, and had already prepared the morph gun by setting it to Peace Maker. He raised his firearm calmly, a movement done thousands of times, pulled the trigger…

Light flared from the barrel, the angry hissing rising in strength as it built up power. When it was almost unbearable and the metal heads starting to get dangerously close Jak released the trigger-

Everything happened so quickly after that.

The shot cracked through the air and exploded straight in the face of the leading beast, the force of it taking out the ones behind the first one – but at the same time the powerful recoil sent Jak stumbling half a step backwards and his sole crashed down on the dense length of a fire vine.

A surprised shout rose up in his throat, the morph gun falling out of his flailing hand as he clutched the air for balance, and with the lost weight he also lost that which he desperately struggled to keep. He stumbled another step, Daxter's frightened screech filling his ears as the ledge suddenly disappeared beneath both of them.

Something dark flashed by and Jak grabbed it as he fell, pain shooting through his arms from the brutal pull. His weight and momentum ripped him downwards but he held the vine, even when his skin was torn up against the rough plant. But he held it, and the fall stopped.

He swung dangerously for a few seconds, until gravity took control of the tortured vine.

Yes, gentle readers, that was how Jak ended up in that situation. That situation where the metal head found him and cut the vine, sending him plunging towards his death in the lava.

About two hours after that event, Jak would wish that he had died in the molten rock. But, we're not quite there yet, now are we? Let us take things in the chronological order from now on.


	6. On the metal heads' dinnerplate

_Author's note: _Ohohoho. Don't worry about me suddenly changing the pairing I set up in the prequel to this, I value continuity. 'Sides, they won't have time for romance during this round.

You thought the cliffhangers so far have been bad? Ohohoho… I'm just getting started, my pretties.

Chapter 5, The withered flower

Jak fell. He was going to die.

The heat intensified for every particle of a second, each of them stretching out eternally before him as he plummeted. He tried to call upon his wings, but though the light within him desperately flared it could not save him. The darkness roared, knowing that it was far stronger but still helpless.

He was going to die. Gravity had him in a grip far stronger than any metal head, and within moments his body would be incinerated. His lungs flared, every inch of his skin already screaming in agony from the floating heat which reached up to meet him.

But the precursors had said that he would do something in the future, or past… they had been wrong.

Daxter, Keira, Elda, Sig, Samos, Ashelin, Torn… no! Not here, not now! He still had so much to do!

He was going to die.

The world did not care whether he wanted to live or not. It never had. This was simply the final proof that no matter what he did, fate kept hating him to the bitter – smoldering – end. Took its sweet time tearing every last bit of his soul apart and finally tossed him aside like a broken toy, too. Much like Praxis. It must have been irritated when he had dared to see some light brought back into his life, since it set him up with such a pathetic death.

Not even a warrior's death, he had been prepared for that. Every day waiting for that bullet in his chest or claws ripping through his guts. But this, this had been nothing but his own clumsiness. Pathetic. How pathetic…

But fate was far more cruel than he credited it. One might in fact have thought that Erol was monitoring this set of fate, smirk about to split his skull as he pushed the buttons.

The heat clawed at his skin, tongue about to crack open-

Only one second remained of Jak's life when his vision suddenly filled up with black.

"Agh!"

What… why did death encircle his wrists? Pain ripped through his already tormented arms and shoulders, making him cry out.

A flapping sound filled his ears, and in a confused daze he looked up. At first he only saw his hands in a blurry darkness, but as the heat and knowledge of certain death steadily decreased his brain cleared. A huge bird carried him upwards, its talons clamped around his wrists.

"The hell!" Jak snarled, instinctively trying to wriggle free.

But he was in no position to fully use his strength, and the talons did not buckle.

Only for a brief moment did he feel relieved at being saved from the lava flow – he already knew what his rescuer was. Its reasons eluded him, however he had a strong feeling that he would not like it.

As it felt the movement, the bird bent its neck and gave its quarry a disdainful look. The skull gem on its forehead reflected the fire far below them, even as the flames grew more distant for every flap of the avian metal head's wings.

"Jak!"

He caught a glimpse of furry orange rushing down the ledge from which he had fallen, trying to get away from the hulking metal head that had cut the vine. The beast scurried to a halt and turned its beady eyes towards the captured elf as Jak swept past on his unwilling way upwards. With a snort, the metal head gave up the hunt for Daxter and turned to the wall. Rocks and pebbles rained down as it dug its claws into the stones and began to climb.

Daxter would have felt happier about this if he had not been watching his best friend being taken away by another monster.

"Jak!" he screamed again, less in panic for his own safety this time.

"Get the backup!" Jak shouted back.

He lost sight of Daxter before he had even finished the call. It did not really matter, for he doubted that any help would make it in time. But giving Daxter such a mission would definitely be the best way to keep him safe, at least. For all of his cowardice the ottsel might actually decide to try something stupid in a situation like this.

The bird that had caught Jak was not acting naturally for a metal head – just like those who dug the tunnel and set a trap. Something was instructing them, otherwise the bird would never have done anything to prevent the elf from becoming a few insignificant specks of disappearing ashes in the magma. And now, it was most certainly bringing him to that instructing creature.

Jak gnashed his teeth. He was not afraid – the raw fear that had clutched him as he fell was only a memory now. This was still an unfamiliar situation, but he could see a battle ahead, something he knew. No, not afraid, but aggravated. This fight would be on his enemies' terms; they chose the place, time and had deprived him of his morph gun.

But he still had a few minutes' worth of dark eco to show his gratitude for the flight. He would not make it easy for them.

Higher and higher the bird carried him, rising past ledge after ledge. Metal heads resting or walking around on the platforms looked up and began climbing as soon as they spotted the captured warrior, growling with cruel excitement.

Jak was starting to believe that this might get messier than he had expected. The walls of the volcano was turning blacker than ever with dark bodies.

And then all of a sudden, the highest plateau flashed past. The petrified monk still stood there on his knees, forever staring off into space with a look of frozen horror on his face. Behind him, the strange nest of tentacles laid. Nothing seemed to have changed-

Wait.

Now that he was carried high above it, Jak became more certain that the unpleasant nest below resembled a flower bud, its center pulsating like a heart.

A sickly grey flower bud, something one would normally think a dead plant. Or, in other words, something that would start to wither soon.

Oh crap.

Sadly Jak ended up having little time considering this, because the bird suddenly let go of his wrists.

Ten feet above the plateau.

With a half strangled scream Jak dropped. He managed to somewhat follow the motion as he hit the ground and rolled, but the slam was too hard for him to protect himself from. Snarling in agony he sprawled out on his back, pain clawing through both his legs. Only the stamina that had kept him alive through two years of experiments managed to keep him from losing consciousness. However, it was a stretch, and for a brief moment he was completely out of it before snapping back to the waking world.

Okay, this was getting bad.

He tried to get up, but the mere attempt to put weight back onto his legs sent black spots dancing before his eyes. Unable to stifle a scream of pain he fell back, and two strained looks down did not make him feel any better. From his limited viewpoint his right leg looked fine even if it hurt like hell, but the lower part of the left one was bent in a place it definitely should not be. The sight of it sent an acid taste of bile up his throat, but he fought it back down by pinching his eyes shut and looking away.

Not good. Not good at all.

Claws scraped against rock and he looked up, through the diminishing dark specks seeing the first metal heads starting to clamber onto the plateau.

It was only getting worse.

Even as Dark Jak, if he could not move he would still be chewed up alive within minutes – and that was at best.

Cursing all the world to hell Jak tore the communicator from his pocket and slammed his hand down on the square and one buttons the moment they appeared. A static crackling arose from the speakers and the tiny screen flickered.

"Ja- sss -ir?" a voice broken by the static came over the line.

Shit. Not Torn, just some Blue Guard. More wasted, precious moments. It had been too much to hope for, but-

"This is Jak!" the blonde snarled at the small machine, "emergency on top of the volcano, requesting immediate aid! Immediate! Oh fuck…!"

One metal head had made it over the edge and dashed towards him, claws bared and fangs hungrily dripping.

Jak did not think, he just transformed. Clutching his head he growled in agony as the violent trembling of his body disturbed his wounded legs, but when the dark eco took over all sensations, including the pain turned into nothing but fuel for his rage.

The metal head staggered back, howling in pain and clutching its cut face. Greenish blood dripped from Dark Jak's claws and his lips drew back from his fangs in a manic grin.

Come and get me, if you dare!

They dared. More and more got onto the platform, even as the first one recovered and raised its paws for another attempt.

"Jak? Jak!"

He vaguely registered the shouting from the metallic thing on the floor. Somebody he knew… that voice…

No time.

Hissing at the beasts he held up his hands and focused a supply of energy at his palms. A sparkling orb of tiny lightning bolts immediately formed in his grip. Jak threw out his right hand, sending half of the dark blast straight at the nearest metal head. The force flung it backwards and into two more of its kind, sending them all over the edge. Falling over onto his back Jak sent the remaining energy at another group in mid-dash. The pain was excruciating, but the dark eco dulled it.

Too weak!

Even with his mind clouded by the animalistic power of his darker self, Jak knew that using his long range attacks only sapped his precious reserves quicker. But what else could he do?

"We're on our way, Jak! Stay alive, that's an order!"

That tattooed man again… irritating…

Something came from behind his head and landed on his left arm, pinning it to the ground. Jak snarled and tore at the small, red-skinned metal head with his free hand, but even when skin and blood filled the air around it the beast did not buckle. It must have felt pain, but it still growled triumphantly at the monster-like elf.

Get off me!

Jak sent his claws towards the metal head's throat, but a heavy paw on his upper arm smashed even that down. A huge, black beast hovered above him, grinning as it closed its grip around his flesh.

Down in the tunnel, Torn froze dead as he due to a Blue Guard's gasp looked back at the display and saw Jak crushed against the ground, writhing and snarling as he fought to free himself. Behind him, dozens of metal heads closed in.

"_Raaargh_!"

A roar ripped through the volcano and the static line, and an explosion of dark lightning tore into the space above the plateau. The metal heads screeched in rage and agony as they were flung back through the air, away from their thought victim.

The dark light died down as soon as it had come and left was only Jak, still on his back and gasping for air like a fish on land. His hair was blond and green, his skin a normal elf hue. No horns, fangs or claws. The explosion had drained him completely.

And there were still living metal heads. The sound of their growling and claws scraping against the rock grated on all listening elves' ears.

"Idiot…!" Torn croaked.

The picture he watched flickered dangerously. It was a wonder that the communicator had not broken completely, but it was obviously damaged. Not that it would matter much longer.

Jak closed his eyes, hearing the snarling and rasping sounds. It was a challenge just to keep breathing. This time it was truly over.

'I… guess I was rash again…' he sluggishly thought, ' I'm sorry, father…'

But there was some other sound, one he could not place. A soft hissing, like something smooth sliding across the ground.

Now what?

Jak opened his eyes again, some hidden seventh sense screaming at him that he would regret it. Something moved in the center of the tentacles, the movement causing Jak to turn his head to look.

His eye bulged.

Grudgingly, Torn ripped his stare away from the screen. His throat was dry as the desert outside, but somehow he managed to speak.

"We're going in!" he snarled.

"Yessir!" the Blue Guards called and saluted.

They all lined up to march up the entrance to the volcano, except four who had earlier been assigned to stay behind and guard the equipment in a situation like this.

Torn hurried past the small army, gritting his teeth. If they were lucky they might find enough remains of Jak to hold a funeral later, but all of them knew that there was no way they could make it all the way up to save him in time.

"Commander! Sir!"

He spun around with a growl, glaring daggers at the Blue Guard who had dared to try holding him back for a moment. But as he saw that the man who had spoken was the one by the display, a wild hope flared up in the commander. Did something…

But then Jak's broken voice crackled through the speakers. His choice of words should not be put on print, and they most definitely did not carry any good news.

Something black slammed down between the blond elf and the communicator, and the big screen flared up with white dots.

For a moment, all of the elves stood silent in shock.

Finally Torn found his voice again.

"What the hell happened!" he demanded.

The Blue Guard who had been watching it all gulped.

"I… think he found the new metal head leader, Sir…"


	7. Reinforcements

_Author's note: _Uh well… this is so closely tied with the last chapter that I don't really want to call it "Chapter 6". But ya know, I love those cliffhangers. I'll have you hanging for another little while. Now look here, I keep telling you that I'm evil. I just like proving it.

Chapter 5.5, Someone call for an army?

Would you rather be at the mercy of an enemy who hates you, or an enemy who loves you?

Is the question strange?

The Baron had hated Jak, hated him for never breaking, never responding to the experiments, never becoming what was expected of him – and yet still continue to live. Praxis knew nothing but disgust for the young man who silently kept defying him, and had not wasted a moment more than necessary on his test subject. At the very end Jak would be nothing more than trash, something to be put out of its misery.

So very different then, somebody who hated Jak for the same reasons, but loved to do so. No matter what he claimed in order to keep from being marked as the sick and twisted freak he was, Erol had truly loved his blond little toy. So many ways to make him scream in agony, to make his eyes glaze over in terror, so many that two years never could be enough to try them all. And such a waste to kill him.

_"I'll be back later…"_

"Don't… touch me…"

"You are in no position to make demands, Jak."

Jak tried to move, tried to slap the hand away. But his muscles were paralyzed with exhaust and pain; he could hardly even turn his head away from the big fingertips slowly caressing his face. It did not matter how he turned, they kept coming back.

"Oh yes…" a coarse voice purred, soft as silk, "you are perfect…"

Walls of pure darkness heaved around him, a dry sound similar to rattling leaves filling his ears. No, not leaves…

Holy shit.

Ring after ring added onto that smooth wall of flesh and scales, only the desperate flicker of light that managed to be reflected on them giving away the uneven bits of natural panzer. It never seemed to end, he knew it kept flowing out of that center of tentacles, he had seen the bud open up and sweet merciful precursors this one was huge.

It was not the size that made the taste of bile rise again.

The dark scales traveled up the elf-like body hovering above him, covering even the form of hip and stomach until they began to crack up by the chest. Above that, there was only sickly grey skin. This one was not at all like Kor – definitely not anything like an elf, but not a gigantic deformed bug either. But there was no questioning what it was, not with that skull gem perched on its forehead. Dully blond hair, almost white, spilled out around the gem and beneath the two golden plates fastened on either side of it. The hair continued down the grey shoulders, disturbed only by the long ears. Familiar ears.

Shit. Holy, Praxis-blessed shit.

The grey skin covered the face too, apart from the thick stripes of black. It was a kind of cosmetic artistry he had seen before.

There was no cursing that could fill this one in.

He did not like that "perfect" comment. Last time somebody said something like that about him it was followed by a "… weapon. And I made you."

Oh yes, he knew this one, in more ways than one.

Jak fought to make himself flat against the floor, but even the pathetic squirming he could manage only disturbed his broken leg. He nearly crushed his teeth against each other, another wave of sweat slouching over his already drenched body. Nausea threatened to overcome him.

Everything… blurry… so dizzy…

He might never wake up again if he lost consciousness now.

It actually seemed like the better alternative.

"What are you… waiting for?" he croaked, hearing the slurring as he slipped towards oblivion.

"Foolish little boy."

Even while his eyes rolled into his head he felt the movement, knew that he was being lifted up. Knew that he would not be allowed to die so easily.

Knew this beast.

Ignored and forgotten by the metal heads filling up the platform, many of them rubbing themselves against the thick black loops and growling in disturbing affection – Daxter peeked above the edge of the plateau. Well, not as much peeked as stared, actually.

The voices coming from within the tower of scales were hushed, blocked by the walls – but even if he could not hear the words he could pick up on the sound. And he saw the grey shape rising up from the tower, perched on the end of darkness. He definitely saw the motionless body it carried, small enough in compare to seem almost childlike.

And he saw the face.

He shoved his own hand into his mouth to keep from squeaking.

The new metal head leader turned, disappearing behind the black tower. Bit by bit the loops uncurled and followed their front end, the entire body slipping down through the center of the brown tentacles at the back of the plateau. A few of the metal heads went after the massive shape, others heading for the edges to resume their guarding of the path up to the platform. But by the time they had even gotten close to the border Daxter was already on his way down, skittering and falling down vines and small ledges as he scurried for help.

'-'

Torn cursed under his breath as he rushed forwards, leaping and grappling for places to continue further upwards. Behind him the Blue Guards hurried to follow their commander, despite their heavy equipment managing to keep up the pace. They were the best he had, well trained and drilled for extreme situations. Survivors who had proven strong during the recent wars.

But even they were not good enough. He was not good enough. Hell, not even Jak would have been good enough if there had been somebody else who needed saving.

But this never had the chance of being about saving anybody, now had it?

Moving through the tunnels had been easy enough, flashlights illuminating the path Jak had taken earlier. No enemies had met them on their way to the other side of the volcano, and now they only had to get to the top platform. He had done a good job cleaning up this far. Typically him – but even the lack of battles did not cover the length of the trip. They still had to climb the volcano's inside.

Every time Torn glanced upwards, he expected to see a disjointed arm with a familiar armor strapped on, covered in blood and ripped apart fall down from the far too distant plateau.

During one such glance he caught sight of something moving up there, and further checking proved it to be a few metal heads leaping between the ledges. If they had no further reason to be on the plateau, then it was definitely over.

Torn was surprised to find that his heart could sink further.

For the first time in his life, he missed the time when Praxis had ruled the city. Then at least, Jak would have been nothing but a pawn – more capable than most and really too useful to waste, but still just a pawn that needed no more mourning than any other. But this was now. Jak was a friend.

Emphasis on was.

Torn gritted his teeth. Fucking idiot just could not take an order to pull back when he ran into trouble…

No time for that.

"There's movement above us!" he snarled over his shoulder, "prepare for battle!"

"Yessir!"

He stopped, and so did his troops. They were not mobile enough to keep climbing when there might be attackers dropping down on their heads. A few soldiers reached the ledge Torn had halted on, the others stationing themselves on the three consecutive platforms the commander had already passed.

Hands so used to the movements that they could do the same things in their sleep reached for guns and set the mods to heavy artillery. The snarls were getting closer. Torn hefted a familiar weight of his own onto his shoulder for support, and raised the metal barrel towards the moving shadows.

There could not be that many of them, not with such numbers being caught in Jak's final attack.

Torn clenched his jaw further.

They would pay, even if he should end up having to finish the job alone.

"Soldiers with me, snipe! The rest of you guard our backs!"

"Yessir!"

He aimed carefully at the space between two ledges, from the corner of his eyes keeping track of the shades coming closer by the second. A plump blackness soared through the air, and a shot rang out. Yelp, smack, growl. Torn almost felt like grinning.

The snarls increased in ferocity. They knew there were enemies left, now.

Thundering feet and growls, gunshots and more snarls. Should there be that many of them?

Not only did the amount of monsters seem greater than logic dictated, the elves were in a bad position for fighting. Sure, they had far better reach and firepower, but arms tired quickly from such trying conditions of aiming. Not only that, but it was hard to aim properly with all the ledges in the way. Noting the shaking arms of the soldiers beside him Torn snarled an order for a shift, forcing his arms to hold his increasingly heavy gun upwards. He took a few more shots at the metal heads before the group on the ledge below had replaced the original one supporting him. Growling Torn lowered his weapon to give his arms a chance to stop shaking. Just a few seconds, then he would be giving those bastards hell again…

That was when the outer wall above them exploded in a rain of bullets and cracking rocks. A flash of light spiraled through the hot air and smashed into one group of metal heads, flaring up with a loud crack and howls of pain. Burnt pieces of nasty monsters rained down, dissolving as they fell.

"Hey there, ya sissies!"

Torn squinted at the fat man smirking down at him from the newly made hole in the volcano's outer wall. Clicking sounds were heard above the drone of wasteland buggies as uncouth men and women dressed in armor and leathery, simple clothes raised their firearms and aimed.

It was unrestrained; everyone fired at will. But with the massive force of their weapons, it did not really matter. Dark limbs and rocks alike fell like unholy rain towards the lava below, and within moments the snarls had ceased.

A familiar shape lowered his Peace Maker and gazed down at the silent soldiers, giving a small wave in greeting.

"The cavalry's here," Sig called, "where's Jak?"

Torn set the barrel of his gun beside his feet on the ledge, taking in a deep breath.

"He sent his last message from up there," he called, pointing at the plateau.

"Give us a sec, we're comin' over…"

"His _last_ message, Sig."

The wastelanders stopped moving.

Another click, and Torn found himself staring up at the barrel of a weapon known to evaporate anything in its way. Even the S-classed Blue Guards stepped back.

"Care to explain?" Sig asked through his teeth.

Torn bit back the urge to start swearing.

"Don't aim that at me, you fool!" he snarled, "we don't have time! The last we saw of Jak was him being down and the new metal head leader smashing his communicator!"

Hissing, Sig raised the Peace Maker and turned to Kleiver. The bigger man was already glaring down at a small box made from precursor metal, resting in his huge hand.

"No signal from poppy's beacon," he said after a moment.

Sig muttered a curse, then sent a frosty glare at Kleiver's shoulder.

"Wipe that look off your face before I rip it off your neck," Krew's ex-heavy snarled.

Not even the threat could grant Veger control of his facial features in that moment however, and he quickly turned away instead.

"Okay, somethin's gonna die hard today," Sig announced.

He signaled the rough troop forwards before stepping back and rushing towards the edge of the opening. Moments later he landed on the nearest ledge below, and moved away to make room for the next person. Torn motioned his own troops onwards and led them up to meet the wastelanders.

"Now just what the he-" Sig started as the commander leapt onto the same platform.

A shriek from above cut off both the question and the possible answer.

"_Tooorn_!"

Everyone looked up, but Torn was the one reaching out. With a loud "Ouff!" Daxter's scrawny body crashed in the commander's palm. He heaved himself up, gasping and gulping desperately for the air that had been knocked out of him.

"Ja-ja-jak…!" he managed to wheeze after a few moments.

"What about him!" Torn, Sig, Kleiver and several of the wastelanders and soldiers demanded simultaneously.

This unnatural show of agreement caused poisonous glares to be exchanged, giving Daxter another moment to recover.

"A-alive!" he screeched as soon as he could handle it.

"What? Where is he?" Sig snarled.

Torn had to move away to keep the wastelander from anti-conveniently grab the wobbly ottsel.

"Give him a chance to breathe, dammit!" the tattooed one growled.

But truth to be told he was struggling very hard to keep from shaking the stuttering Daxter, when the animal suddenly managed to relay another bit of information.

"T-t-took him!"

"What!"

There went the choir again. Only a few glares erupted from this one, however. They were getting used to it surprisingly quick.

Still gasping, Daxter managed to heave himself up with the support of Torn's thumb.

"We know that…" he wheezed, "gotta talk to… old gree- urgh…"

He slumped forwards, eyes sliding shut. He was lucky not to hear the cursing of his existence for fainting.

'-'

_Author's note: _So… anybody wanna bet who the new leader is? A correct guess might yield something nice in return. If I have the time, which I really don't but might find. :)


	8. A face of the past

_Author's note_: I'm flabbergasted by the attention and praise this is getting. Thanks a lot everyone!

Chapter 6, Nightmare relived

Jak came to far sooner than he would have preferred. He came to soon enough to be aware of something quite unsettling being done.

He heard the sound of heavy bubbles breaking nearby, but there was no heat from lava. No, instead there was only a sense of power hanging in the air, its metallic taste filling the air as he struggled to breathe without singing his throat with it. And at the same time, part of him bared its teeth in a hungry growl, wanting to lunge for that silent calling, enticing scent of dark eco.

No. Holy hell, no, no…

Cold, ragged stone met his fingertips as he tried to move his hands, only managing to scrape his skin against the thousands of tiny crevasses beneath him. The pain in his legs had almost disappeared, but not in a good sense. He was feeling numb. This was not good.

What was worse were the nimble fingers working their way across him.

Clack.

A piece of armor which should have kept protecting one of his legs hit the ground. From his subconscious, he could recall the exactly same sound from a few minutes earlier. His legs were unprotected now.

Dry throat tearing up just with the simple task of forming a sound, but he forced the muscles to move.

"Stop it," he croaked.

"It's in my way."

The fingers moved further up, so cold that even his sedated nerves reacted to it. His nails dug into the dark cracks in the ground. He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the shape of grey even if he could only see it from the corner of his eye from his awkward, sprawled position. There was not much he could do to fix it, either… not that he felt so hot about taking a closer look.

He could feel the smirk, in flesh a backlash from the time when he just had not been smart enough to _finish the fucking job_.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

The darkness filled up everything, stretching out endlessly in a lazy half-curl from one end of his vision to another. Only the part where it bent to carry the gray body towards him, there was an opening. And that was where the black eco lapped at the rock, bubbling away and sending that eerie, impure purple shimmer across everything – the only reason he could see anything at all, probably. There seemed to be no other source of illumination, apart from the dull glow of the huge skull gem.

It was quite enough. More than enough.

Cold fingers brushing over his neck on their way to his shoulder armor. It was on purpose.

"Get off me."

There was only a throaty chuckle at that.

Those fingers moved far quicker than they should have. He vaguely felt the pull as the belt holding the armor in place was unlashed.

Clack.

Next a limp arm was lifted from the ground, tendrils of moving ice curling around his wrist and lifting it. And he could not summon the strength to struggle.

No ropes, no chains, just a removal of his ability to move. He would not even be allowed to writhe.

The belt against his forearm began to buckle.

"What are you waiting for?"

He snarled the question again, knowing that there was no pleasant answer waiting on the other side of the question mark.

Clack…

The arm panzer was lowered to the ground carefully, thoughtfully. His vision filled with gray, gray and the shimmer of the skull gem.

"Waiting for?"

Ice fingers brushing over his lips. Jak pinched his eyes shut, weakly gritting his teeth.

"Kor, too…"

There was a pause before the next movement.

The cold slid down his chin, passing his neck with the gift of a disgusted shudder tearing through him, slipping over to his other arm to finish with the next piece of armor.

Smirk.

"Don't touch me!" he snarled, drawing strength from the revulsion.

No reply.

Clack.

Only the main armor left now, the one protecting his body. The only piece he had received straight from his father's hands.

"Don't touch me you fu-!"

The backhand of ice cracked against his jaw, sending flares across his vision as his head crashed to the side. Even as he growled in pain, he saw the grey disappear out of sight. It returned only moments later however, lowering itself to his side on the hard ground.

Jak squinted, forcing his eyes to focus again, following the lazy gaze lingering on the gray hand held up against the blackness around them.

The fingertips were dipped in darkness, rivulets of dark eco slipping down the skin without leaving a trace, not a hiss of pain. Nothing. The darkness had no interest in harming this one.

"I remember, almost dreaming," a drawling voice started, "Kor… woke up first. We couldn't really recall anything at first. He didn't think that much of it, there was too much to do. The details didn't matter."

Kor…? Kor and this one...

Jak could not keep his eyes from widening as the realization slowly dawned on him.

Smile.

"Smart little boy. He was… impatient, not even waiting for all the memories to clear. I was still sleepy. I waited."

Fingers curled, eyes closed. A black tongue lapped up the drops of eco covering a pair of fingers. Rolling over, raising up and gazing down at him, hair spilling over gray shoulders to brush against his bare arms as those fingers reached down, dark eco still clinging to the skin but drops were forming, feeling his presence and he could not move away shit, shit, shit…

"He was too focused on revenge however, and lost his sense for experimenting."

A new smirk as Jak flinched at the last word.

The other hand came to his hair, ruffling the green roots and digging into the short blond curls in a twisted parody of a caress.

"Don't misunderstand me, I'm quite mad at you for killing him. But, I think I'll keep you."

Fingers drenched in darkness pressed down and painted two strokes of frothing pain on his cheek, the raw black eco ripping into his hungering body without accepting any attempts to stop it.

And still, still there was that part that through the agony, through the bile, through the flood of memories that was about to burst and tear his mind apart, only screamed _more, more!_

She smiled as he choked, eyes rolling and face constricting as he struggled against the darkness seeping through his entire being. Finally he was left gasping for air, chest heaving desperately in shuddering breaths.

Dark eco from wells and remains of metal heads was one thing – it was processed, turned into a whiff of floating darkness. It was not like the raw stuff that filled pools of oblivion all over the world, lapping at the ground it sought to corrode, searching for anything living that it could feed on. The stuff that Praxis and Erol had pumped into him. It was too raw, too much for his mind to handle.

His dark side impatiently snarled, clawing at his skin from inside, closer than it had ever been since the precursors had granted him the blessing of the white eco.

Prying his eyes open he glared up at the thing watching him with great interest.

"I swear I'll kill you too, bitch," he croaked through tightly clenched teeth.

"Will you, now?"

A chilly palm came to rest against his throbbing cheek, intensifying the pain instead of smoothening it. Fingertips ending in claws stroke the base of his ear, making him shudder again.

"Get your hands off me."

"I'm sure you're thinking that I'm an idiot for giving you dark eco, since it makes you stronger."

Smirk.

"Since you're in control, aren't you, Jak?"

The other hand pressed down on his damp forehead.

"But the dark eco is calling you," she said, "and the other you is answering it, isn't it?"

The hands disappeared, only for one set to return further down, gripping his chin and tilting his contorted face back towards her.

"Dark eco knows beauty when it senses it, boy. You will be beautiful too, more than you already are."

The dark creature in his mind snarled and whimpered, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Jak tried to keep telling himself that it did not want to curl up and lick the gray hands moving down to remove the last pieces of his armor.

'-'

The sharp sparks of unwilling communication filled the air, cutting through the lazy bubbling sound coming from the lava far below. Torn had long since passed the state of mind where he even considered holding back on the cussing. It did not help that all eyes were on him, with impatient scowls from the wastelanders and increasing tension oozing from the Blue Guards. They had moved up a few ledges already, pausing only to blast remaining metal heads coming at them and trying to establish contact with the outside world. This would be the third try – apparently the small communicator had troubles reaching outside of the volcano's walls.

Torn was on his last fragment of patience. Arguments had been ripe between him, his men and the wastelanders about whether or not to just dash up there and start blasting everything that moved. He could have agreed on the blunt approach if it had not been for what he had witnessed via Jak's communicator. They had no idea what was up there, or if it was waiting. Daxter still had not awakened – they might be running head first into a trap if they did not slow down and tried to form a strategy.

Like Jak had failed to. Idiot.

Torn gnashed his teeth and smacked the machinery in his hand. Hard.

"Ashelin! For fuck's sake, piece of shit work you fu- Ashelin! Reply!"

That last shake of the communicator seemed to cut it. Even if it did not exactly save the day, the voice coming across the speakers was a blessing from an otherwise smirking god.

"Wh- zzzt To-"

_Finally_ Ashelin's face sprung forth from the static lines, and the connection stabilized. Torn's attitude did not, even if he was very close to give a small sigh of relief.

"We have a situation here!" he snarled.

"What's happened?"

"Jak's been-"

"Grrreen stuff!" Daxter's voice cut in.

He unsteadily crawled into a sitting position in Sig's massive palm, head swaying back and forth. Obviously he had knocked something on the way down, or he was in a state of shock. Either way he did not seem too steady.

But he was their sole source of information.

"The hell're you saying?" Torn snarled, for a moment ignoring Ashelin's demands for an explanation.

Daxter blinked owlishly a couple of times, then shook his head with a determined "brr!". He finished off the process of anti-trauma by giving himself a slap. It would have been a surprisingly amusing sight if the situation had not been the way it was. Daxter still swayed a bit, but his eyes focused properly on Torn this time.

"Old log head! Senior Shade boy!" the rodent near-shrieked, "just get him!"

Gritting his teeth but seeing no other option but to obey if he wanted anything concrete out of the hysterical ottsel, Torn looked back to the communicator.

"Jak's missing, and Daxter says to get the Shadow!" he growled.

Ashelin tensed only for a tenth of a second, then she was just as collected as before again.

"I'll call him, hang on a sec," she said and looked away from the camera on her end of the world.

Looking back at area around him Torn found himself watching the sideshow of everyone else's interest; Daxter stubbornly smacking his furry palms against his cheeks as if he was trying to wake himself up. Finally he grated a tightly closed eye open and peered up at Sig's face.

"This aint a dream, is it big guy?" he asked, dull hope in his voice.

"No, and what the hell happened?" the giant impatiently demanded.

"No, no, no, of course not… it's never that good, nope, nosirree…"

Daxter made a strange sound in the back of his throat, almost a giggle. He gave himself another slap.

"Oh, how wonderful," came Veger's voice, dripping with enough sarcasm to soak Kleiver's shoulder, "even the sidekick is losing it."

Daxter made the same sound again, and this time it came out in the form of a high pitched giggle. He fixed almost manic eyes onto the other ottsel and grinned like an idiot.

"Oh hey, Vulgar," Daxter said, "wanna see a _real_ dark eco freak?"

Before the disdainful eyebrow reached further up on the fuzzy forehead, Torn's communicator sparkled again.

"What is it?" Samos asked, worry lacing the three simple words.

Torn nearly recoiled out of the sheer surprise; he had never seen Daxter move that fast. Considering Sig's blink, neither had he.

The ottsel sprung up from the sitting position and flung himself over the expanse of air to the Guard commander. He landed on Torn's arm and spun around, bending over the communicator and grabbing it as if it had been the collar of some unlucky elf in for a hysteric attempt at explanation. Which was true, apart from the bit about the collar.

"I saw it, Samos!" Daxter yelled at the perplexed face on the display, "Praxis' head on a stick, I saw- that- and Jak, shit, loghead, she took Jak, he's down there with her, but she can't be here, right? _Right_?"

Samos' eyes narrowed further, as everyone else only could listen and stare at the crazed little furry thing. Torn's fingers twitched in the fight against the urge to slap the pest away, though.

"Daxter!" the sage finally snapped, whipping through the torrent of words, "what in green tarnation are you babbling about?"

"Get it already, ya mossbrain! Gyaah!"

Daxter hissed in a deep breath and slapped himself, realizing that he was not quite being informative. It was just so hard to think clearly with all the mental images, memories and realizations crashing down on him. Still he had to try to know that "easy does it" or they would never get anywhere.

Easy? Not when Jak's been taken in by _that_ one!

Holy crap on a fuzzy stick.

He tried again, narrowing his eyes at the exasperated face staring up at him.

"It's her, dammit!" he snarled, "she's crawled outta there like a gigantic nightslither!"

Samos nearly burst a bloodvessel.

"_Who_?" he snapped.

Daxter gulped, trying to grasp control despite that voice ringing through his head that no, no, no, this was all a mistake and there was no way Jak had been abducted by a freakin' ghost of all things. But there was only one thing that his eyes had let him know, apart from the fact that Jak had, indeed, been Jak-napped.

Holy golden crap on a multicolored fuzzy stick.

"It's Maia! She's _back_!"

Samos eyes were always disturbingly large-looking due to his glasses, but now the beady little things behind the glass were about that size without any help. His staff crashed against the control board as he lurched forwards and smashed both hands into the metal frame for support, ignoring the angry beeps this caused. Ashelin almost took a step back in surprise.

"Maia?"

Torn's eyebrows twitched. Many times things had been bad, but not even when the palace was about to fall had the Shadow's voice cracked like that. Sadly, this did not stop Daxter's hysteria.

"Yes! And greeny, my train of thought is kinda on a rail I want it off-"

"Shaddup already!"

If Samos' reaction could not get things moving, then Torn's rough grabbing of the ottsel's scrawny body at least quieted everything down a little. The commander tore Daxter away and glared down at his communicator.

"We don't have time for this! Who the hell is Maia?" he demanded.

Samos turned away briefly, shaking his head and taking in a deep breath to calm himself.

"It was very long ago…" he finally said, "she is the sister of Gol Akuron, the dark eco sage."

As he turned back to the screen before him he pressed a hand to his forehead.

"We thought that Jak killed both of them by throwing them into the dark eco silos, but if Daxter is right then at least Maia survived…"

Daxter wrung his paws frantically, elbows smacking against Torn's fingers.

"No!" he shouted, "she's not just alive, she's a frickin' metal head now!"

"_What_?"

"Whaddaya mean, _now_?" Sig cut in, "either you are or you ain't… right?"

Even though Daxter shook his head, Samos was the one who answered first.

"No, Maia and Gol were elves like us…"

He paused.

"But the dark eco corrupted them and drove them mad, they became little more than monsters-"

His eyes began to grow wider again. Even though Daxter was out of sight with Torn's face taking up the entire screen, the sage knew that the ottsel probably made an excellent face mirroring the old man's feelings. That train of thought that Daxter wanted off, yes… he had brought Samos onto it instead.

"Shock full of dark goo," Daxter said in a faint voice.

He bit down on his furry lower lip, ears drooping alongside his skull.

"Doubtlessly…" Samos agreed, fingers tearing through his beard.

His voice had a far higher pitch than normal.

"Unnatural powers…" he mumbled.

"Pale as dead dudes…"

"White hair…"

"Fangs…"

"Claws…"

"She's huge and got a skull gem I tell ya…"

"Not possible…"

"She took Jak…"

"Fertilizers!"

"_Shit_!"


	9. Find me

Chapter 7, Beacon in the depth

Silence.

He became aware of that first.

The dark eco still bubbled away, but there was nothing else.

At some point he must have passed out. It had been nostalgic in a way.

It made him want to throw up.

His skin still burned from where the darkness had been spread across it, long caresses pushing his damp clothes around and seeping through the fabric into his body. At least the acid in his bloodstreams had faded into a dull ache.

He felt sick.

But the snake was nowhere in sight, not that he could really turn his head to actually take a look around.

No matter where she was, he had been granted one brief respite, and it could very well be his last.

Gritting his teeth Jak reached down and grappled for his pockets, fingers hardly willing to obey him. He might only have a couple of minutes at best, not knowing where Maia had disappeared to. She might even be watching him from the darkness, but it was nothing he had time to worry about.

His pulse picked up and the search became more frantic when it failed to yield any result at first.

Where, where… she couldn't have taken it, could she?

His breath came out in a ragged gasp of relief as his fingertips stumbled over the smooth outline he had searched for, and he ripped the battle amulet from the hold of his pockets. With a wild glance around he slipped his fist up to his chest, trying not to let the precious item be seen too well.

Thumb stroking across the almost silky, polished ball in the middle of the amulet, he fumbled to push down-

_Damas__' dead body father is dead and who will you call to death this time, boy?_

The thought pierced his mind like a red hot poker and he almost dropped the beacon. Just for a moment, a fracture of a second, he hesitated.

_Do you want to live?_

'Yes!'

He almost hissed the thought aloud, but his throat was too dry.

The knowledge was stronger. Life had screwed him over more times than he could count, but if he was to die – not now, not at her hands!

Clenching his jaw, he pushed down on the button. A muted beep answered him, the sound soothing to his ears.

_We're coming. We'll find you._

He hid the beacon in his pocket again, but as soon as he had done so the last ounce of strength left him and his arm fell back to the ground. Taking in deep breaths through his mouth and nose he tried to regain control of his drained limbs, but all he managed were a few twitches of his fingers.

Great. They would find him like this, flopped on the ground like a rag doll. Unable to move, helpless.

They would never let him hear the end of it. Jak almost chuckled. Considering the options, the amount of teasing awaiting him did not really seem so bad.

He frowned slightly. Right, options. What were the options?

With all her denying it, it really did not seem like she was going to kill him. "I'll keep you"?

Whatever it was, he was not very curious at all.

'-'

Sig had, ever since the Metal Head Wars, regarded himself a warrior. Serving under Damas in Haven City he had grown so used to violence and gore that even a monster twice his size could not make him recoil unless it ripped through the ground right beneath his feet. And even then he would have blasted it before even thinking about what he was doing.

The current situation, however, made constant attempts to screw his steely mind over.

"That way, there's a ledge over there! Move it, guys!"

The green old man's voice had been a throaty whisper as he put down the theory of his and Daxter's in simpler terms. The men and women had hardly let him finish before they turned and flung themselves against the nearest way upwards, boots thundering against the blackened stone.

Today did not seem like a good day. There were few things that Sig did not feel qualified to deal with. In fact, the list had just gotten one hundred percent longer – adding to the "emotional issues" crap. Every time he paused to check on the area around him his hand unconsciously reached down to his waist to make sure that he had not dropped the containers hung on his belt. All this was starting to make him think that good ol' Seem might not have been talking from the dream weed when she saw the wastelanders off back in Spargus…

It was, in two words, messed up.

"Hurry, we've gotta get him outta there!"

Even worse was the fact that Daxter had taken up residence on his shoulder. And more disturbing than that…

"Thatta way's quicker!"

Sig looked up, following the path set by the pointing little hand. It was a sharp turn from the way up they had been following so far, but looking at the ledges he thought that they would be able to use them. But first, they would have to deal with the snarling metal heads clambering across the widespread stair of platforms, growling hungrily at the climbing intruders. So far the warriors had not even bothered to stop and blast the beasts unless they were in the way, but this time it might actually save them a few minutes instead of wasting them.

"Hold your yakows, cherries, he's right!" Sig called.

He raised the peacemaker, not waiting for everyone else to stop and turn around. Behind him he heard the assertive grunts and clicks as his fellows obeyed the order, Torn shouting at his soldiers to follow suit. He took aim...

… even more disturbing than Daxter perched on his shoulder was Daxter shouting at them to hurry towards the lair of the beast, and that they were listening to what he said.

Veger, meanwhile, was saying his prayers in a mix of manic whispers and ear-piercing cries. Nobody had the mind to care further than cursing at him to shut his goddamn scripture-trap.

Certainly all readers should figure that the above order to the religiously inclined ottsel was censored. Just the slightest bit, of course.

One had to give the fuzzy nutball credit for not protesting more than he already did. Might have been the look on Kleiver's face the first two times Veger tried to talk them all out of "this madness". Oh, and Daxter's swearing. That too had been disturbing.

Shots rang out, the flames from Peace Makers spiraled through the hot air. Several metal heads fell, but some drew back to get out of shooting range. Sig growled as he realized that the beasts were trying to force the attackers into a position where they would have to climb and shoot at the same time. The ledges were arranged so that the warriors would be beneath the monsters, unable to fire at them as the next ledge would act as a shield against the guns. Somebody might have to act as bait to draw the metal heads back into a position where they could be shot at.

That was when Torn brushed past the wastelanders, throwing his gun to a Blue Guard. He spoke through his teeth without even looking around.

"Let me handle this. Anybody saw how many there were left?"

Sig raised an eyebrow, but did not hesitate further than that.

"Think I saw at least four," he said.

Shadowing his eyes with a huge palm, Kleiver squinted upwards at the offending ledge.

"I think it's five," the bigger man said.

"Lemme have a look."

With those words, Daxter slid down from Sig's shoulder and down his arm. His eyebrow rising higher, the dark-skinned wastelander let go of the Peace Maker with the corresponding hand and turned his palm upwards for the small creature. Daxter's claws scratched his skin as the ottsel stopped and looked around, giving Sig a weak grin.

"Okay, hurl," Daxter said.

Even Torn turned around. Sig studied the animal for a moment.

"What?" he finally said.

"Come on, throw me upwards so I can check what's up there!" Daxter clarified, impatiently waving his arms.

When Sig still did not move, the ottsel's ears drooped slightly as he added:

"Jak does it all the time."

"Ah."

Not feeling quite inclined to argue that logic Sig bowed down slightly, lowering his burdened arm. Then in a swift movement he flung his arm upwards, catapulting Daxter into the air.

The ottsel went up with a "whooaaa!" and down with something more akin to "_aaaaaah_!". Sig had no trouble catching him again however, following the smack in another bow to make the impact lighter.

Pressing one hand to his chest and gasping for air, Daxter raised his other hand with five fingers stretched out. Torn merely grunted something that sounded like an order to wait, and headed for the nearest ledge. Without any visible trouble he swiftly crossed and leaped up the natural stair.

After he reached the last shelf before he would have had to climb onto the dangerous platform, he stood still for a moment. Then suddenly he sprinted forwards. He leaped, smacking his hands onto the edge of the ledge and somersaulted onto the upper platform in one fluid motion, worthy of a gymnastics champion. Sig felt an inclination to clap as Torn continued to work the momentum by spinning around on his heel while reaching back to pull his curved dagger from its sheath. In the next moment the commander was out of sight, flinging himself towards the roars coming from the obscured area.

Even low whistles sound terrible when they are surrounded by static lines, but it did not seem to bother the Guards. Had they been a few years younger they would probably have harassed their leader for an autograph later.

Sig did not quite rule out the possibility that they still would try to get a paper signed so that they later on could give it to their grandchildren as a heirloom.

However he did not get much time to muse about this since the roars remained surprised only for a second – then there was a "chink!", a heavy crash, and the roars became quite furious instead. It all became a cacophony of snarling, claws against rock, metallic smashes of steel tipped boot crunching a bone-hard face, and general mayhem.

Goddammit, the rest of them were missing a good show.

They did, however, see the muscular, black hunk of living armor and claws that charged towards the edge of the platform only to be sidestepped and finding itself grasping nothing but hot, empty air. Calloused laughter erupted from the warriors at the morbidly clumsy act, but Daxter turned away as the beast's furious roar grew more distant until it snapped dead in a loud, fizzling splash. It never sounded scared, only furious that it had failed to bring another flimsy little elf to his death.

Not horrified, like Jak. The difference was still not enough for Daxter.

The silence did not come too suddenly, but fading from a dying growl. A boot clattered against the rock above, and the dreadlock-crowned head of Torn came into view. He raised an empty hand and waved at the two groups to get a move on.

As soon as he saw them start to walk – after the Blue Guards had saluted – Torn stepped back and leant against the warm wall, gulping down deep breaths. Not to say it ever would have been easy to face a group of metal heads with a dagger, but in the stiff, smoldering air it had been a real stretch. He glared at the remaining skull gems and black bones littering the ledge, surrounded by dark clouds of eco.

Pests.

Thankfully slow pests, but still pests.

He straightened up and left the wall just when the footsteps from below risked getting too close, nodding recognition when Sig's head and Daxter's small orange frame came into view. The giant easily heaved himself onto the ledge and stepped closer, reaching down with the hand not holding the Peace Maker. For the first time Torn took proper note of the two flasks made from precursor metal that hung by the wastelander's belt.

"Need some refueling?" Sig asked.

Torn waved his hand in a dismissal move, but still watched the containers.

"What is it, white eco?" he said.

"Yeah, Seem gave 'em to me before we left, said something about 'a need to bring purity for the darkness'."

Torn would have rolled his eyes in disbelief if he had not long since grown used to Onin and her jabbering sidekick.

Behind Sig, the wastelanders were making their way onto the new level with the Guards just half a step behind. While he was just about done with catching his breath Torn did feel grateful for the small wait this whole action required, and his focus remained on the minor discussion instead of barking orders at people to move their asses.

"Another visionary?" he said.

Sig nodded, then shrugged. Despite the careless motion his fingertips violently rapped against the smooth, orange surface of the flasks.

"I didn't mind much but… guess our chili pepper might need healing after this round," he said after a moment.

Glances flew around.

Yes, healing. Healing sounded good. Very good.

This was all fine and dandy until Daxter's shrill voice disturbed the artificial peace.

"Why are ya'll still standing around here? Move it, people!"

Torn and Sig threw a glance at the ottsel before turning towards the next step of the way. They would definitely never get used to Daxter wanting to face off with the danger.

The plateau grew ever closer as they continued to make their way upwards-

There was a beep. Feet halted in mid step as the first sound was followed by a twin, and another in a rapid motion.

A curse which did not sound quite angry escaped Kleiver's thick lips as he ripped the receiver from his belt and tilted the artifact to check the signal. Veger bent down towards the screen, narrowing his eyes at it in a warning glare. The machine did not seem to care.

"Jak?" Daxter flung out.

Up until the moment that Kleiver's yellow teeth became visible in a grin, the only sound heard was Daxter's claws scraping against Sig's shoulder panzer. Veger would have cursed under his breath if he had not regarded himself as above such things. His day was not getting better.

"Guess there's still some guts left in the nipper," Kleiver concluded, "hang on…"

He pushed a couple of buttons and squinted at the item in his hand, finally pointing a thick finger towards the volcano wall behind them.

"Beats me what he's doin' half a mile in that direction, though."

Like one person the group turned to look.

Solid, burnt wall.

There was a pause.

After a moment Daxter reached upwards and pointed at the plateau.

"The big missus creep went down on the other side of that," he said.

Torn grunted.

"We should have a look," he said and motioned at his troops, "there'll probably be some trail up there."

"This is suicide, and for what?" somebody shrieked.

"Shaddup," Kleiver absentmindedly muttered, still studying the receiver.

"Choke on it, Vulgar, that's my line," Daxter snarled.

He straightened up, frown evaporating as he gave Sig's jaw line a light shove – enough to be persuasive, careful enough not to irritate too much.

"Now stop standing around like lollipops, people. Jak expects _us_ to save _his_ sorry ass for once!"

The ottsel's drooping ears were starting to perk up again, for the first time since he had seen Jak fall towards the lava. It was a relief to hear the nasal voice speak with something less than panic, too. Sig gave the rodent a brief grin as the wastelander continued forwards, following Torn's continued climb.

_We'll find you._

'-'

Seconds trickled into minutes. Jak breathed deeply, forcing himself to continue taking in gulps of air through his mouth even when the smell of dark eco coated his tongue like a layer of slimy metal.

His insistent attempts to move slowly began to yield results as the pathetic twitching of his fingers evolved into clenching of hands. Soon he could move his arms a bit again, even if the motions were sluggish and clumsy. Every muscle seemed to weigh three times as much as they should. Maybe though, if just given a little more time, he would be able to drag himself away.

The mere idea touching his brain made him want to chuckle again, no amusement in the laugh this time either.

'Oh yeah, drag yourself away with a broken leg, at the speed of a swampslug. You're a real winner,' he thought.

The numbness still kept the worst pain away, yet he was fully aware of his state.

But he would rather be eaten alive by a centipede metal head before just giving up. Maia could break every damn bone he had and he would still not take it lying down. Gritting his teeth he fumbled across the cracks in the ground, seeking support to move his unwilling body.

Sadly he never did get much farther than that. The silence did not last as long as he would have preferred. Far too soon he heard the raspy thunder of a huge, long body slithering across the uneven ground and he turned his head with a growl passing between his teeth.

A speck of dirty light followed by a grey blur sped out of the darkness, hovering far above the ground that the impossibly long body crushed down as it moved forwards. But there was something else.

Jak narrowed his eyes, suspicion through the hatred pulling at him as he glared at Maia's approaching shape. She held something in her right hand, fingers tightly curled around it. Despite this a green glow made it through the cracks between bone and flesh, casting an eerie shimmer over the grey skin.

She hovered above him again, casting another wall of darkness in a circle around the unmoving elf.

"You really are stubborn."

He did not reply. It did not seem to faze her.

"I'm sure your little brain is having a meltdown trying to figure out why I haven't crushed your skull yet."

Gritting teeth. She smiled lazily.

"Gol wanted to kill you, I know," she said, "he sought for a way back to that stone age… I think he found one, but I don't really care."

The rift gate… even that painful memory fell numb now, as Jak kept glaring at Maia. A sickening feeling was growing in his gut, but he had no choice but to wait for her to get to the point.

She reached down with the free hand, still smiling. Ice fingertips touched his jaw and he snarled.

"I too want revenge, but I'm not so blunt. Oops!"

The last comment escaped her lips as she ripped her hand away, Jak's two rows of teeth hitting only each other with a dull clack where her thumb should have been.

"Good boy…"

Her lips stretched far longer than they should be able to.

"It seems that in these days, most other eco has devolved into white eco," Maia said, almost idly, "perhaps in an attempt to create balance. There was still a little left in our robot, however, even if most of it flooded the command bridge when you messed everything up. We were drenched in green and darkness."

She smiled down at him, unclenching her hand. A glass test tube slipped down, being caught between two of her fingers. The glow of green eco shone across Maia's face and illuminated her manic, black eyes as she bent closer and whispered to Jak's face.

"Do you remember the battle on the silos? What happened when green eco mixed with dark?"

Adrenaline born of pure panic ripped through him and Jak's back scraped against the ground – it probably tore up his already badly treated shirt but he had no time to care even if his bare skin would be ripped apart by the sharp cracks below.

_Hulking black beasts, far bigger than lurkers – hardly more than muscles, claws and fangs, more frightening than anything he had ever seen. But he still fought them, blasting yellow eco at them and moving too quick for them to catch him, blasting and blasting until they fell over and evaporated…_

The green eco in Maia's grip swirled, breaking the non-light so that it took on a sickly olive color, like poison. The cold claws grappling for his insides must have been apparent on his face from the way she smirked. There was nothing he could do about it.

Her other hand shot down and clamped over his throat, pressing him into the cave floor. Hissing, he grasped her arm and tried to break free, but it was like trying to bend an iron bar, stiff fingers slipping from their numb grip.

"What, don't you want to be _healed_?" she asked, soft as silk.

The eco flared, throwing itself at the wall of glass as she pressed the tube to his cheek. Jak wrung his face away, barring his teeth in an animalistic snarl.

"I cannot vouch for what might happen if you would come in contact with green eco, now that the dark has touched you, actually. It might just heal you like it normally would…"

She lifted her hand and took the metal stopper to the tube between her teeth. A moment later the cork hit the ground beside Jak's head with a sharp ping. It continued to roll away into the darkness, forgotten.

"… or maybe sweet little baby metal heads will come bursting through your flesh. But that'd just be messy, don't you think?"

Her thumb shifted slightly, boring into his thundering pulse. He gasped for air, struggling to wrench himself free to no avail.

"I hope this beat isn't normal, or your heart won't last long."

Her fangs showed between her lips as she smiled, starting to tip the tube a few inches away from Jak's face.

"Regardless, the third possibility seems most realistic, judging from what happened to me and Gol…"

"_NO_!"

Dark lightning exploded from Jak's body in a massive flare, sending Maia flailing backwards with a sharp hiss. The test tube swung dangerously in her hand, but her thumb clamped down over the opening and the eco remained inside.

For a few moments all he could hear was the blood roaring through his head and the shallow, ragged gasps filling his mouth with a taste of steel and blood. Through the thunder came a whisper, chilling breath running down his face like a filthy river.

"Not yet, Jak. I just wanted you to know, while you wait for your friends to come and find you."


	10. Darkness beckons

_Author's note_: Anyone sick and exhausted by these cliffhangers, yet? Almost done, I promise. Almost. Muhahaha… well, I'm quite pleased to see that I've been vague enough to leave some people in the dark about just what Maia is up to. To those who have made correct guesses, salutations!

Chapter 8, Chaos

After a lot of climbing, blasting and swearing, the semi-allied forces of wastelanders and Haven soldiers reached the plateau.

"The hell is that?" was the first sentence spoken as the goal finally was reached.

As more people got their sights on the heap of tentacles, similar comments were made.

"We thought it was some goober-stuff Dark Maker thingy," Daxter said, "Seem said…"

"Doesn't look like the thing that dropped on Spargus," Kleiver said.

He stepped closer and poked at one of the brown limbs with his Peace Maker, ignoring Veger's loud warnings. There was no reaction from the strange contraption, apart from a dull clonking sound when metal met the dead, dry material.

Torn took a few steps closer to the pulsating center of the mess for a closer look, when there was a sudden "Eep!". He turned his head to see Veger caught in Kleiver's giant hand, nearly having his black little nose squashed against the nearest tentacle. What a refreshing sight, but it would have been funnier at any other time.

"Ye should know about these things, midget, have a look!" Kleiver ordered.

The ottsel shook his head, but a warning squeeze informed him of his options. With a vision of disgust painted across his fuzzy features, Veger reluctantly reached out and put his small hands on the abomination. He tore away far quicker, moving as if it had stung him.

Not even the most pathetically pleading look in the world could keep Kleiver from snarling at his "partner", who gulped. The small hands reached out again, blindly fumbling across the uneven surface as Veger clenched his eyes shut.

Behind the two, other wastelanders and some of the soldiers gave other tentacles suspicious pokes, knocking harder when nothing happened. Torn finally snapped at his troops to cut it out.

After a few moments of research, Veger lifted his hands away in a bit more calm manner. That meant that he ripped away with a little more style.

"It's dead," he said, "I believe that the dark eco it contained has been sucked dry."

"Charming. What's next?" Daxter called from Sig's shoulder, "metal head vampires?"

"Rat," Torn said, pinching his eyes closed to fight the mental images, "shut up."

Daxter did not. But at least he changed the subject.

He stood up, pointing towards the slimy lump of pulsating… _something_ in the middle of the nest.

"Anyway, I think Maia went down there," he said.

"That ain't looking dead if ye ask me," Kleiver said, eying Veger with some suspicion.

The religious ottsel vigorously shrugged, waving his arms about as he tried to form a coherent sentence of explanation or excuse. It seemed like he had some difficulties concentrating properly with his boss glaring at him like that, however.

He was saved this time. However, the one who had to perform such a dirty deed would never admit to having done it.

"Let's just blast that thing," Torn said, waving his hand impatiently at the glop.

Hearing such a bright idea from a lesser sissy of a Haven inhabitant, Kleiver reached for his shoulder and plonked Veger back onto it without a second thought. Sig had already raised his Peace Maker, nodding at the other desert warriors to do the same.

Within moments the angry buzz of charging weapons fizzled through the hot air, fingers hovering on the triggers as the power caused the arms to vibrate dangerously.

"Now!" Sig shouted and fired.

The combined flares forced everyone to turn away.

In the explosion of raw power hitting living tissue, all other sounds were drenched. All the bubbling and snarling of surviving metal heads below, footsteps recoiling and curses as the intense light burned eyes – but several of the warriors could later swear that they had heard a piercing, inhuman screech of agony behind that deafening boom.

Even as the flares were still jumping before the elves and ottsels' eyes the tentacles cracked and the entire creature- _thing_ lumbered backwards. Dry, hardened limbs broke apart with a sound similar to _big_, snapping twigs until finally the entire body lost its dead hold of the plateau. It fell, crashing through several platforms on its way towards oblivion.

Nobody saw it hit the lava, but the heavy splash was enough. A violent fizzling rose up from the depths and tore at every last ear for several seconds until finally it ended in one final hiss.

Long before the Dark Maker had met its overdue end, boots clattered against the expanse of the plateau to reach the freed area.

They had not gotten halfway before a dark shape shot upwards from the other side of the area, huge wings cracking at the hot air in the glow of a skull gem as the metal head rose higher and higher.

Daxter's face twisted into a snarl as his big eyes narrowed at the flyer. It looked no different than any other fowl beast he had seen during all his journeying with Jak, but somehow he just knew that this was the one that had brought his friend up to the plateau earlier. It took him an extra moment to realize that it carried something this time as well.

Before the ottsel could identify the full image however, the metal head folded its wings and dived, hungry beak opening up in anticipation of elven flesh.

The shot from a Blue Guard's gun pierced its left wing and it was thrown out of balance, screeching in pain and rage. But its protests were cut short as a hail of bullets ripped through its body and it crashed on the plateau in a dissolving heap.

The lumps of dark eco slid away from bones, skull gem… and the item the bird had carried.

It was a familiar thing, colored very much like a precursor's fur. It dully scraped against the ground as Sig silently picked it up, shaking it to get rid of the last specks of eco. He surveyed it without a word, the same silence hanging over the entire group. The leather straps hung limply from the piece of armor, the lifeless swing not so much natural as appearing ominous. They should be keeping the protective gear in place against an arm.

Finally Sig spoke up.

"Anybody else gettin' the feeling we're invited to a party?"

"Let's bring the fireworks."

And with those words Torn marched the last few yards to the partly smashed edge of the platform, his soldiers obediently following him. Sig almost smirked, fastening the piece of armor on his belt for safekeeping. But only almost, because his mood was still sinking. It was also difficult not to notice that Daxter had remained quiet for a very long time. As he crossed the expanse of rock Sig offered the little guy a glance.

"Hey, don't sweat it, cherries," the wastelander muttered, "if chili pepper can't stay alive for five minutes without our help I'll lock him in the gun course until next month."

Daxter squared his shoulders and tried to relax his face a little.

"Five skull gems says there ain't a single beastie left alive when we get down there, anyway," he offered, "Jak's probably made creep mince outta the lot of them already."

Sig's lips stretched briefly, but fell back into two thin lines far too quick.

They both knew that "alive" was not the thing they worried about.

As it turned out upon closer inspection, the Dark Maker body had been resting on a protruding part of the cliff. Now that the abomination was out of the way, nothing obscured the big hole in the rock, silently gaping up at the elves. It was curved, leading into the cliff itself.

Another invitation.

Again glances were exchanged, and the results were the same.

Something along the lines of "Yep, we're walking straight into a trap. You got any better ideas?".

Other ideas would have been highly welcome, but not expected. At least not since Daxter had kept from complaining so far, and nobody cared about Veger's opinions.

The new pathway was studied for a moment, and pondered. Once again there was an annoying amount of stone in the way to properly see if and where there were enemies waiting. Finally Torn grunted something and looked around.

"Any volunteers?" he asked.

It said a lot about the intelligence rate of the S-class soldiers that they remained wisely silent. Torn glared at them and was about to turn to the wastelanders, when Kleiver stepped forwards and peered into the hole below. It could not be worse than a fall of a couple of yards. He stretched his arm out.

"Go have a look, will'ya," he said and let go.

"Nononono-nooo!"

The wail disappeared into the darkness and echoed for a few more moments until finally falling silent. The people remaining on the plateau waited.

"He's useful after all," Torn said eventually, "who would've thought…"

"S'all a question of makin' use of what ye've got," Kleiver said.

They exchanged eerily similar smirks for the briefest moment. Then the wastelander cupped his massive hand beside his mouth and shouted at the hole.

"Oy! Ye still alive, rat?"

"You are all despicable brutes!" came Veger's echoing reply from below.

Kleiver made a thumbs up at the rest of the team.

The hole was quite spacious, so it was no trouble for any of them to climb down and make it inside. Once down there they also found that there was enough space for three men to walk beside each other, standing straight.

However, outside the reach of the sunlight from above, utter darkness ruled the tunnel. The two groups assembled by the entrance to deal with this before pressing on into the unknown.

"Switch to night vision," Torn ordered his part of the troops.

A choir of "Yessir!" and hollow pokes of metal gloves against inner buttons of helmets answered him. He let them handle that on their own, himself donning a pair of goggles for this purpose.

Ashelin could chew him out as much as she wanted, he absolutely refused to wear that kind of helmet again. Way too many bad memories. From his experience it very seldom mattered whether or not you wore a helmet, either way. Metal heads had harder fangs.

And the bastards liked to prove it, too.

When the equipment was in place he turned to check on everyone else, studying everything in a shade of grey. Most of the wastelanders had donned similar goggles, but the few who like Sig had one artificial eye simply waited for everyone else to finish. Daxter gave Torn a helpless grin, shaking his head while looking up at the gear adorning his fuzzy forehead.

Useless. Ah well. Not like he would be fighting.

Speaking of ottsels, it seemed that Veger had clambered back onto Kleiver's shoulder. While pouting, he had probably reached the conclusion that if he stayed with those people who he hated oh so much, he at least had a chance to surviving.

Now why he would like to keep on living considering the miserable state of his existence would forever remain a mystery.

Once everyone had signaled that they were ready to continue, Torn and Sig exchanged nods and took the lead, weapons ready to fire at the faintest sign of even a claw.

The steps echoed around the warriors as they walked straight into the void, the smell of gravel and dust filling their nostrils. The scent of sulfur was still there, but by now they had gotten so used to it that it went past unnoticed. It was a bit hard to tell with the situation they were in, but it seemed that the tunnel tilted slightly downwards.

It was Torn who spotted the next clue first, after a few minutes of nothing happening.

"Hold it," he said and raised a hand.

The voice seemed to hang in the air longer than any step, held captive by the echo for several seconds before it finally died down. Torn continued forwards a few more paces, Sig just behind him.

He sighed with frustration as he hunched down and picked up what laid on the ground.

"What is it?" Daxter asked, squinting at the nothingness in front of his nose.

But he had already heard the familiar sound.

"Jak's other gauntlet and shoulder guard," Torn replied.

The commander straightened up and handed the armor to Sig, who gritted his teeth as he added them to the first piece already hanging by his belt.

"I'm getting a feeling that bitch is trying to tell us something," Torn said, hands clenching around his gun.

He raised his hand and waved at the others over Sig's shoulder.

"We're moving on!"

"Yessir…"

Torn turned around and almost had to jog for a few steps before he caught up with the long strides of the far taller wastelander.

"Yeah," Sig muttered, voice carried to everyone by the echo, "she's telling us to come and join the fun."

This time, Daxter gulped audibly.

"We're moving pretty straight towards poppy's beacon," Kleiver said from behind.

His receiver clattered against his armor as he put it away again.

"Jus' hope we ain't moving beneath the lava," he added.

Agreeing murmurs rose up from various places of the troop, but after that they continued in silence.

Nothing came at them. Not a single metal head attempted to stop them from reaching their goal. It was unsettling, for every step forwards driving the tension further into every last skull. That was why, when Sig suddenly spoke after a far too long silence, almost everyone either jumped or at least tensed.

"Do you smell that?"

Armored chests crashed into armored backs as the group came to an uneven halt, but in between the swearing came the sounds of quick sniffs.

Sulfur, dry dust… and something oily.

"Hmm…"

Kleiver reached out and his thumb scraped the nearest wall.

Torn turned around and raised his eyebrows, turning just in time to see the scarred wastelander remove his finger from the wall and give it a quick sniff before briefly pressing it against the tip of his tongue.

He spat in the next moment, giving his mouth a violent wipe with the back of his hand.

"Dark eco," he concluded, "ugh…"

"I… don't wanna know…" Daxter muttered.

Sig took a few more steps forwards and narrowed his unseeing good eye at a spot further ahead.

"Here we go again," he said and walked over.

Third time's the charm. Even for the sound of precursor metal against rock.

"Leg armor."

Sig stood up, but did not turn around even as the steps of the others closed in.

There was a silence.

"You don't think-" a voice lined with static started up.

"Don't even say it!" Daxter snarled.

"Regardless of any personal opinion, the evidence is not in your friend's favor," Veger said from the darkness behind the veteran ottsel.

Daxter spun around without thinking, somehow managing to keep his balance despite being unable to even see the shoulder he stood on.

"Shut up!" he shouted.

But Veger had warmed up to this rant. One could even hear a hint of his trademark smugness as he went on while the echo of Daxter's protest still hung in the stiff air.

"Let me add that considering what the sage theorized, it would be favorable to think him dead-"

Another voice cut him off, this one too far above normal conversation level. It was distant, raw; carried to them via the echo and pounding at the surrounding walls. Distorted by its journey between the rocks, difficult to make out from within itself – but simple enough to be recognizable.

"_NO_–NO–No–no–no…"

"Jak!"

Daxter's call would have been more relieved had the distant scream not been so apparently filled with dread.

To hell with being careful.

Boots thundered against stone as the soldiers and wastelanders alike dashed down the tunnel, towards the source of the screech. Because every last one of them knew that if there was anything in the world that could make _Jak_ scream like that, they were all in deep.

And those were not any nice mental images playing in everyone's heads.

The change when it came was not too surprising. With the night vision equipment those in the lead saw the end of the tunnel pretty well before they actually reached it. There was also that rising level of illumination, quickly taken in by Daxter's light-hungering eyes. Veger received the same treatment within moments, whether he liked it or not. As usual, of course.

And he most definitely did not like it, since the reason for the light turned out to be an entire lake of dark eco, filling the entire back half of the area.

The echo turned a lot more hollow, clattering dully throughout the great cavern as the final soldier left the tunnel and stopped behind his tense comrades.

It was eerily glowing, moving darkness against normal darkness as the ceiling disappeared into obscurity, out of reach for the non-light and night vision both.

Two things stood out in the scenario however. One would be Jak's chest armor lying discarded in the middle of the floor, the other a distant speck of lighter colors on the other side of the lake. Before this last thing could be identified however, the nightmare kicked into action.

Something stirred in the lake, a large enough movement to be caught even by the two ottsels' still adapting eyes.

It was huge. And it broke the surface, a pillar of darkness rising up from the heart of the oily slime. Guns were raised as their owners struggled against the alarming bells going off in their minds, the ones screaming at them to run for their lives.

There was not only one lonely gasp as the sludge slipped down the pillar in thick rivulets, dripping back into the lake from fingertips unconcerned by the filthy substance.

Maia smiled, giving her neck an easy twist that slouched the eco-drenched hair in heavy locks against her back and shoulders.

"Looking for something?" she asked, gazing down a them with dark eco still clinging to her face.

The first shot went off, but she was already diving towards the bubbling surface of the lake. And a wall of darkness rose up against the shots that followed the first one, bullets smashing into scales harder than steel and falling into the dark eco slouching about the monstrous length of the body. More arches of scales and muscle surfaced and the single grey point remained in the safety behind them.

The Peace Makers went off, flares exploding against the defensive matters. The black curves swayed slightly upon the impacts, but no more than that.

Silence fell as several of the warriors, even wastelanders, took an insecure step backwards. The useless fire died down.

Torn looked over his shoulder, quickly motioning at the lake and then drawing an imaginary circle around his own face. He finished with a slitting motion of his horizontally held hand against his throat.

_"We have to wait and aim for a weak spot!"_

Teeth were gnashed, but even Kleiver gave a small, reluctant nod in approval. Veger had hit the ground by the feet of his "boss", looking more dead than alive. Hyperventilating was just the beginning.

"What, giving up?" came Maia's voice from the nest of her own tail.

The grey flitted about just out of sight, now and then hinted at between the slouching curves that protected her.

Torn glared at the monster, eyes narrowing even further as she laughed. From the way she acted it was apparent that she wanted to keep her gray end out of danger, but with the distance and her defenses it seemed impossible for them to do something about it. They needed a distraction to draw her ou-

"Ah, good ol' Maia, still using waaay too much mascara. Anybody ever tell you about restraint, lady?"

Daxter's voice cut through the air, its casual tone screaming against the heavy breathing of his allies. The sudden intrusion almost caused Torn to jump.

Maia moved her grey body up into a sprawl against an arch of her tail, cheek resting on her own scales as she watched the cautious group. They saw only glimpses of this as the rest of her continued to roll past to keep her safe.

"Huh, I see you're still around too, boy. Still as small and fuzzy, too. Now we only miss the sages and that girl."

Her eyes hardened slightly and she waved over her shoulder at the back of the cavern. The speck of color from the other end of the lake moved closer, and teeth bit down on lower lips.

"I'm afraid that Gol can't join us, however," she said, "it seems your hero here already killed him."

It was Jak, heavily reclining against the darkness surrounding him. Everything beneath his chest was engulfed by two coils of Maia's tail, carrying him dangerously close to the dark eco. As his name rung through the air he tried to straighten up, but his movements were sluggish. Not too good.

But despite this there was a collective sigh of relief among the warriors. He might not look quite healthy, but they had been prepared for far worse things than what was before them.

Well, Jak-wise. Maia was still a bit more than they had been prepared to chew.

However she was focusing on Daxter so intently that she did not notice that Jak continued to move as soon as she looked away, shaking hand rising up and disappearing beneath his scarf.

Daxter licked his dry, furry lips. Remembering how to crack a joke had never seemed this difficult before.

"Oh, too bad," he said, speed picking up just slightly, "his respiratory problems really would have added to the atmosphere."

Hesitant, frustrated glances were flung his way, but he never bothered about them.

Jak's hand came back, weakly sliding down his shoulder and chest. He caught the fist in his other hand, trying to steady the grip.

The grey lips belonging to Maia stretched a little, the corners dangerously tilting upwards.

"Those ceased to be a problem," she said, "you see, you knew Gol as Kor a short while ago. Ah…"

She watched in bemusement as nervous glances were exchanged among the troop. Especially Daxter's loud gulp was duly noted. Maia smiled.

"… I heard a little bird whisper that the green sage already theorized about that," she said.

Despite the rising panic Daxter tried not to let his gaze flit between her and Jak, or she might notice- don't let tension into voice, don't let tension into voice, don't let-

By now the ottsel was no longer the only one noticing that Jak was up to something, and even if the distance and dusk obscured the details the warriors had seen that kind of movement enough times to know it by heart. Sig and Torn exchanged brief glances, brains trying to calculate the chances.

Maia's main body was quite far away, and from Jak's stiff motions it was apparent that he might not be able to aim properly.

Daxter gulped, but summoned a drawl with all his might.

"I don't get you," he said, "personally I'd rather have troubles breathing than being the world's biggest caterpillar and worm."

What would have been Maia's retort drowned in a screech of pain as a shot rung out. She arched backwards in agony but somehow managed to dive behind the protection of her tail before new explosions tore into the air, bullets and flares of energy once again smashing into her scales and falling flat against the protection. Curses filled the cavern – she had been clutching her left shoulder.

"Shit…"

Maia's entire body rippled and Jak slumped forwards, Keira's gun slipping from his grip and into the dark eco as his prison violently slouched closer to the shore. But within a moment he groaned as his head was torn upwards by his hair, slit eyes staring up at the furious face above him.

Dark slime slobbered across the expanse of her back and chest, covering almost her entire left arm. No pain remained on her face, only fury.

Mercilessly, Jak's eyes were drawn towards the green glow in the corner of his vision while Maia's voice broke through the gunfire.

"Oh, boy… you are going to wish you had aimed that at yourself."

The tube of green eco hung between her fingers, pressed down by a large glass ball filled with the olive colored substance. Letting go of his hair she drew back and flung the containers through the air.

Surprised calls rose from the rescue team as the glass smashed and the life giving eco flowed across the stone floor.

Cold fingers curled beneath his eco ring and despite the protesting snarl Jak was lifted into the air, finding himself face to face with Maia's manic eyes.

"It's just a theory, really…"

Her breath ran across his lips, her fangs a mere inch away. He clutched her grip, tried to jab his fingers at her face to break away. The dark eco bubbled beneath his feet, but even its hungry embrace seemed like the better option.

"Do a good trick for me, boy. And kill or be killed."

The world spun around, and he only heard his own shout just before he hit the ground and his mind exploded with pain. At first, it was only every nerve in his legs sending flares up his spine until they tore into his brain like claws, but within moments his skin picked up on the shattered pieces of glass breaking through. Blood spilled onto the ground beneath him, but all the while it was just the beginning. Cuts on his hands, bare arms and cheek, but it was nothing-

"Jak!"

He heard familiar voices shouting his name.

That was when the real torture began.

Green filled his vision. Once it had been a welcome sight, he had known it would have soothed the pain he now felt. But now it was dirty, coming at him like green smoke.

_Green smoke smell of decay cold walls cold hands cold table against my back static laughter hands hands grabbing tearing no precursors no don't touch me-_

It would not heal. It slithered across his body, seeping through his clothes and skin, filled his veins with burning sludge on its way towards his heart and head.

Screaming.

Screaming like he had not done since Praxis had him strapped on the table beneath the scalpels and needles covered in blood and eco.

Every muscle tensed and bent, forcing him up on his knees even though the legs too screamed – back arching as he clutched the top of his head, searching for a way to stop the cracking. No matter how loud he screamed, the splitting sound just got louder and his hardening skin brushed the horns sprouting through his hair, claws clashing against the smooth surface breaking his skull. The horns were bigger than they should have been, cutting the goggles apart. The heavy strap fell from his head and crashed on the ground, the red glass shattering.

"_Jak_!"

The warriors rushed forwards, all they saw being the green eco covering the writhing body, hearing the scream rise as Jak suddenly raised up on his knees despite the broken leg, the teeth exposed by his roaring rapidly becoming far longer and sharper. His skin lost all color, but the moment it turned gray it switched again, deepening at an alarming rate towards pitch black. For a fleeting second it seemed like he was merely taking on his dark form, but it went past it and continued towards a whole other level.

He was flung forwards again and feet stopped dead in their tracks, jaws dropping in horror at the sight before them.

His clothes screeched and ripped to shreds, falling to the ground around him to join the broken goggles. With violent pings the buckles of the straps holding his eco ring snapped and hit the floor.

Jak heaved himself up on his arms, and when he did his head was at the same level as Sig's – something the blonde never had managed before even when standing up straight. He was growing, proportions twisting outwards in violent spasms while the black skin hardened, already beginning to reflect what little light there was.

A set of fingers grown far too big to look normal came up again, their metallic ends scraping against one of the light sources as Jak fumbled, vainly trying to get a grip of it. The blue eyes still remained in his face, wide open in agony. Slimy threads of lingering green eco surrounded them as he turned towards the warriors, the scream fading into a desperate gasp for air that shook his entire body.

Jaw moved, two words wrestled out of his throat between the still growing fangs.

"Kill… me…"

And then he screamed again, howling at the men and women as they stood paralyzed before just the thing they had feared ever since Samos spoke of it.

Those eyes, looking perverse in the face of the growing monster, caught in the glow from above. The glow from the skull gem rising up between Jak's horns.

"_Kill me_!"


	11. Madness

_Author's note: _Ah yes, slight warning. The beginning of this chapter is very much confusing, but that's the idea. It's largely seen from Jak's perspective and he is, quite understandably, losing that old, healthy grip of reality.

Chapter 9, Monsters

_Never ends it just starts over again day and night never resting they will come I can hear them outside…_

"Kill me!"

_The pain continues hands everywhere faces masks eyes…_

"Jak!"

"Look out!"

So many screams. He could hardly tell whether it was his own or somebody else's. So clumsy when he tried to reach for them, too… heavy, yet moving too fast- crumbling stone, fleeing feet-

_Watching poking what will this do to me what will they try today?_

"Kill-l-l meee!"

_Staring accusations I'm dirty I'm sick…_

"Jak! Buddy, snap out of it, for the love of-"

"He's gone goddammit! Shoot!"

_My fault?_

"No!"

_It's so cold here._

"Killmekillme_killme_…!"

_Waiting footsteps coming closer waiting knowing waiting waiting please somebody please, please…_

"Stop fighting it and the pain will stop, you silly boy."

_Please…_

"Kill me!"

_Just outside the footsteps heavy boots crush ribs the key is in the lock turning door opens no please, precursors please, somebody no no no please let me die…_

"Like hell we'll shoot! The white-"

"Killlll meeergh…"

"Daxter! Stop!"

_So cold so dark I can't see can't feel can't hear I'm already dead taste of blood if they come again I'll kill them I have to kill kill kill-_

"_Jak_!"

_There's nothing, only that… sliver… through the bars…_

"Jaaak!"

"Dax… ter…"

_It stopped. There's somebody… talking? S_a_y _so_m_ethi_ng, j_ust _t_h_is on_ce!

A gigantic paw smashed into the ground, sending crushed pebbles and sand flying in all directions.

_I_'m_ gonna ki_l_l P_rax_i_s!

Shuddering with unsteady breaths the growing behemoth fell forwards, one arm crashing on the cave floor while the other struggled to support the huge body. Jak forced his burning eyes open, trying to make out the little orange dot from the darkness around it. Like a pebble…

"Da-Dax…"

It did not sound like his voice anymore, the words hardly forming properly from the rumbles in his throat. Everything was so… small… insects…

_Won't you kill me?_

"Hang on, buddy!"

_Madness.__ No hope._

"Kiiill mmme…"

_Eco freak. Freak! Freak! Freak! Daxter please kill me please Daxter!_

"Now!"

_Sig__…? _

Explosions of pure light filled the corners of his fading vision, the flares mercilessly seeping into his body and making him roar with doubled agony.

_You hurt me even you why can't trust it hurts hurts **hurts** stop I'll kill you why are you…who are you… it… pain… no…_

"What do you think even white eco can do for him now, you maggots?"

_Pain too much please stop it's numbing… what…who…_

"Come on Jak, you can do it!"

_Daxter what… pain… crossing… end…_

"_What_?"

"Something's happening!"

_Knew I could count on you we're sorry I want to help you we believe in you you give us all hope-_

Cracks? He choked on his own roars, squinting down at the black armor covering his body. The agony was mind numbing, but now it was as if it tumbled over on the other side of pain, where it began to feel relieving. Was this death?

Something hit his back with a heavy splash, and the agony rose up again in a flare of darkness. New roars tore through his throat and the fragile spider webs of light flickered desperately.

"Hey! Stop cheating ya fat worm!"

"Be silent, animal."

_Drop the cargo. Eco freak. Eco freak. Banish it it's dangerous. _

"We need more white eco!"

"There's nothing left!"

His claws dug into the ground, eyes crunching shut.

_Jak buddy I love you Jak to hear your voice Mar our hero Chili Pepper a lot of things worthwhile my boy find my son my son my son my son-_

The light wavered.

"There's nothing to do! Kill him!"

"No! You can't-"

_Didn't your father I never knew make war your own my finest warrior blasphemy destroy the other good day to die die to die…all my fault head hurts stop it st- no don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me!_

He threw his head back and the face that once had been Jak's cracked open, not in a roar but a desperate howl to the hidden skies. It tore into the stiff air, reverberating through the shadows across the expanse of rock and dark eco until the voice cracked and drowned in a raw, animalistic wail with no traces of its former shape left. It seemed to last forever, forcing even Maia to press her hands against her ears.

It ended as suddenly as it had begun, cut off within a throat tasting of blood.

Then Jak fell.

"Oh crap…!"

Daxter spun around and dashed back towards the recoiling group of warriors, just barely avoiding being crushed beneath Jak's smooth, black chin.

The crash shook the cavern, the massive weight pulverizing the fine cracks in the ground beneath it. He did not move anymore.

Tension spun its chains around everyone – the uncaring bubbling from the black eco mingling with the quick gasps for air of the shocked elves, and Jak's ragged breathing. He had finally stopped growing, but at a frightening size.

Seconds stretched to eternity.

"So."

Maia's voice echoed in the darkness.

"What will it be?"

A huge eye opened.

"Shit…" Sig hissed.

Before he knew it, he had raised the Peace Maker. Around him, hands with bloodless knuckles mimicked his movements.

There was nothing behind the iron eyelid. Even Dark Jak's eyes reflected the light around them and crinkled with an animalistic cruelty – even that was better than this void. Not even the rising glow of the skull gem avoided being sucked inside and devoured.

The creature that was not Jak anymore bent its arms, claws and palms grinding across the ground as it heaved itself up. Snarls filled its breathing while it slowly turned its gigantic head back and forth as if trying to orient itself.

Daxter would have wanted to hide behind something, but he could not move a muscle. Only a pathetic whimper made it through his throat as he tried to speak his friend's name. He heard the sharp clicks of weapons being cocked, but could not form another protest.

Is it a proper end for a hero to be shot by his own allies?

Would they even be able to hurt him?

The armor covering the beast's body looked far harder than a normal metal head's – but it was not a normal one either. In the background, Maia snickered.

It was not a question of whether or not the warriors would do any good, not when the depthless clefts in the behemoth's face turned towards them and it stopped moving. It raised a huge hand; they took aim, teeth crushing down on each other.

But the creature's movements were slow, uncertain. The claws scraped its own armor, screeching against the panzer on its chest. As it heaved further upwards, eyes desperately searching for hope finally saw the last tiny cracks of light on the dark body. Nobody lowered their weapons, but fingers froze on the triggers. This was the last time they hesitated.

Maia frowned.

The cracks were small, spreading from a weakly pulsating center on the middle of the creature's chest. Claws touched it briefly but quickly moved away again as if burnt.

There was something green reflected on the armor, pouring out of the cracks. The hand turned over, revealing a small lump of green eco. Slowly the head tilted, almost curiously studying the shining cloud in its palm. And when it moved, threads of light shot out of the cracks and tackled the green blur. It lurched forwards, following the creature's movement as the glow on its chest wavered. Distracted, the behemoth dropped the eco.

Shimmering lazily, the substance floated towards the floor while green and pure white twisted about each other, mingling and merging into a creamy emerald color.

Sometimes it is so apparent that something fantastic will happen, that you are certain that the world will prevent it just to spite you.

This time, the world failed to deliver. The mixed eco suddenly stopped moving, and spread out just above the ground.

"What the hell's going on here?" a hoarse voice demanded.

Jaws fell slack.

A hand holding a Peace Maker as if it was a royal scepter, heavy braids lazily twirling as he turned his head, and a familiar armor and face only partly distinct in the swirls of eco. It was obviously not a living person, rather a sketchy character drawn with strings of eco and shaded by puffs of the same.

Still, it was impossible not to recognize.

The behemoth seemed to have frozen in place.

The citizens of Haven City threw wild glances between the otherworldly display on the other side of the cavern and the wastelanders. The sturdy, rough warriors of the desert were just about to have their weapons falling from numb hands. Two ottsels shared a disturbingly similar look with eyes as wide as saucers and chins near their stomachs.

Silence ruled in a frozen moment, until suddenly a slick black knee scraped the ground. An uncertain movement, strengthened by the croaking sound rumbling deep within the chasm of a throat.

The eco ghost turned his head again. He looked up. And further up.

With an inhuman screech the behemoth scrambled backwards, claws clashing against the metal on its cheeks as the huge palms sought to hide its face. The broken leg gave away and the creature fell over on its side again, still trying to cower from the spiritual eyes.

The ghost's free hand came up and he pressed it to his scalp, sighing.

"Kid, when I said that dangerous is useful, I didn't mean this much," the king of the wasteland said.

His hand fell and he stared up at the monster before him in silence.

The behemoth turned its head away, but twitched at the next sound.

"I suppose that it's possible for rejected eco to take the form of a channeler's wish. Intriguing, but inefficient."

Maia rose up above the beast, dark eco dripping from her arms.

"Begone!" she snarled.

A powerful twist of her upper end and a rain of darkness sailed above the black head of the behemoth, towards the ghost. With a snarl forming in his throat, the ghost drew back while raising both arms to protect himself.

Shaking the cavern with a roar the gigantic beast shot forwards, fingers entwining into a shield. The far smaller figure straightened up as the eco splattered against the armor above, darkness dribbling onto the ground several feet away from the shimmering character.

The behemoth shook like a crocadog in the rain, then turned halfway to snarl at Maia. She gave a screech in reply, retreating towards the middle of the dark eco lake. This seemed to be enough for the offender, for it returned to the previous position. The huge hands cracked apart, landing on the stone floor to form a broken bowl around the ghost standing in between the two halves.

Safe.

Damas. Safe.

There was a strange, choking sound bubbling up between the beast's fangs.

Indistinct lips stretched, curving in a friendly smirk.

"Nice reflexes, but…"

Damas pointed, voice turning sharper.

"… the enemy's over there. Move it!"

It was disturbing, the way that the behemoth turned its head and paused for a moment, studying Maia. Once more it seemed curious at first, tilting its huge head slightly. She glared back, not retreating a single inch more.

Even more disturbing, that she showed no sign of fear even with the looming threat of getting body slammed by a beast with hands twice the size of her head. Hands with very big claws.

They could have shot her right then, the wastelanders and soldiers alike figured. The tail still arched and waved, but not nearly as efficiently as before. However, the idea only managed to crawl into their heads far later, because from their position right then and there, rational thoughts had frozen in anticipation of just what the monsters were going to do.

The movement seemed so slow at first, that it was impossible to tell whether or not there was actually any plan behind it. But the better leg bent beneath the behemoth, drawn up to the chest still marked by the pulsating threads of white eco.

Maia's hands twitched outwards, claws at the size of butcher knives sprouting from her fingertips. And as if it took that as a sign, the beast catapulted itself into the lake, the broken leg scraping the ground behind it.

Huge body plus eco lake… uh-oh.

"Shit- move!" Sig shouted.

The clumsy leap sent a slouching wave of dark eco across the ground, forcing the elves and ottsels to take a hurried retreat. Had the eco been just a little bit lighter it might very well have splattered about the entire cavern, but a wave could be avoided more successfully. The warriors scrambled up to the wall where the ground was higher, staring back at the hellish scene beneath them.

Roaring and screeching the two beasts wrestled about, claws clashing against panzer and cutting through the thick eco covering them both. Maia was far smaller than the behemoth, but only as far as concentrated body weight mattered. While she swept around to keep her vulnerable upper body out of reach, slimy coils rose from the lake and lashed themselves around her enemy. The behemoth grappled for her with one hand, clawing at the coils with the other in enraged attempts to keep her from trapping it. And the dark eco soon covered them both, black sludge casting its filthy light across the rippling bodies as it dripped all over them.

"I… I'm gonna have nightmares…" Daxter whispered.

Torn glanced at the voice, only then realizing that he had grabbed the ottsel as he retreated together with everyone else. Mechanically he set Daxter down, but from the look on the fuzzy thing's face, he hardly noticed anything either. Mercilessly, Torn's eyes too returned to the battle even if the scenery made his stomach want to turn inside out. He violently swallowed against the taste of bile, only given a brief respite from it.

"And what are you waiting for?"

They all jumped, heads turning sharply to find a life-sized ghost standing only a few feet away, glaring at them.

Humorously enough the last one supposed able to form a coherent sentence spoke first, after several seconds of stunned staring.

"You- there's n-no way- you can't be…"

Veger fell backwards as the glowing, indistinct eyes turned towards him. Within a moment however, Damas turned back to the warriors.

"I would hope that I'm real enough to command my own men," he said.

That was not, in any form, a question.

Somehow Sig managed to force his jaw to move.

"Yes, your lordship," he said.

His voice did sound a bit askew, but at least he got the words out. As soon as one of them successfully mastered his shock, agreeing croaks arose from the other wastelanders' throats as well.

"Good," Damas said.

A shining hand whipped out, pointing finger outstretched.

"Then don't just stand there like fools, be prepared to kill that thing!"

It was not a voice that tolerated any hesitation. Peace Makers were raised before their owners even could form a thought about it.

And during the whole conversation, the two monsters continued to fight. Maia had somehow managed to trap the behemoth's left arm against its body with a coil, but the free right hand grasped her tail a dangerous few feet beneath her upper body. However, the eco covering them both made her slippery, and the hand slid downwards. Focusing all its might on trying to maintain the weakening grip, the beast was caught off guard when suddenly the sharp tip of Maia's tail rose up from the lake and slapped at the enormous face. With a roar the behemoth fell back, losing its grip of the snake. She sent the tip of her tail at her adversary's throat, but a lower arm caught the blow. A huge blob of eco smacked into the grey body, slapped from the lake by the free hand as it was flung up in the blocking. Momentarily blinded Maia swung backwards and the tail whipped about aimlessly. The behemoth took the chance, ramming its hand at the bottom of the lake to throw itself at her again.

The clumsy way he moved, having to use his arm to make greater movements… it was ugly.

"After this he'll be lucky if he can ever use that leg even with support…" Torn muttered.

He kept his teeth clenched, keeping his gun pointed at Maia. The behemoth kept getting in the way and the Peace Makers were sure-kills, but he was not going to just stand there doing nothing. It was a bizarre thing to say, he realized that. But hope is the last thing that leaves a man, is it not?

"That might just be the best."

All eyes returned to Damas. But his gaze remained on the battle.

"_What_?" Daxter finally said.

The ghost did not move.

"If worst comes to worst, it'll be easier for us if he's crippled," he said.

"Whaddaya mean _easier for us_-"

Daxter's ears drooped down again and his shoulders sagged. Hands clenched around the weapons they were holding, even the most tanned skin paling as it was stretched against bone. However, the increased tension was brief.

"I was kinda thinking you were here to save the day or something, Sparkly, now git!"

Finally Damas spared a glance to the side, but it was unreadable. He soon returned it to the monsters.

"I'm here because he wanted me to, and the eco reacted…"

Both hands grabbed the shimmering Peace Maker that leaned against the ground.

"… but I'll try, rat."

Right in that moment the behemoth's hand smashed into Maia just beneath her upper end, sending her flailing in a circle – her back turned towards the warriors, while her enemy crashed into the eco lake after losing its balance. Even before she had gotten halfway through the uncontrolled crescent several Peace Makers were hissing, but they would not be able to charge up before she got herself back under control.

A shot rung out again, and Maia screamed as black blood exploded from her lower back. She twisted, the behemoth growling in pain as her coils constricted in her agony.

Somebody pulled their trigger and a bright light spiraled through the dark air, closely followed by others. Maia never saw it coming but she let out a demonic screech as that first flare tore into her, voice rising and breaking under the blasts.

And she fell silent, the echo drowning in the new roar.

The beast shot forwards and caught the falling, lighter form while the coils fell off in fading spasms, the impact rocking Maia's head so violently that the skull gem finally fell out of its socket and fell into the eco with a miserable _glop_. But the behemoth kept moving, claws digging into Maia's limp upper body cutting through her burnt skin. The roar never ceased, and the armor bulged as the muscles beneath flexed – the huge creature was not satisfied with her being dead, still thirsty for blood.

"_Stop_!"

Four voices rung out and the behemoth froze just before it would have mutilated the dead body beyond recognition.

It turned slowly, looking down at the four hands raised against the felony – one fuzzy, one emerald, one huge and dark-skinned, one lithe but calloused by daggers and guns alike. The few people present who possibly could make that thing listen before it completely turned into a monster, either by friendship or because the person behind the lifeless eyes was too used to take orders not to react.

Maia crashed on the ground face first, carelessly flung aside like a broken toy. Silently, the behemoth dragged himself out of the eco lake, the heavy ooze slipping off its body in lazy drops. It only used its arms; both legs trailed behind uselessly.

Once fully out of the slime, the beast heaved itself up on its arms, blank face turned down at the group of midgets before it.

The white eco on its chest had shrunk to a pathetic little spider web, flicking like a dying flame.

Glances were exchanged.

Alright gang, you have the attention. Now deal with it.


	12. Beyond the eco

Author's note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and especially thanks to Krin for the constructive criticism – I always appreciate that. You're right, the last chapter really did kinda flunk in the end. I'll most probably go back and fix it up.  
And just to make that clear; no, I was NOT on crack when I wrote this chapter. Seriously.

Chapter 10, Out of the darkness

The darkness of the cavern closed in on them all as the dark giant laid there, propped up on his arms. Bubbling eco, broken by lazy slouches now and then as Maia's tail moved in death throes beneath the dark surface, labored breaths and thundering hearts struggling to slow down – nothing else.

The metal head leader was dead, but as he watched the abomination bearing down on them all Torn felt a seed of dread spreading its roots through him. With a sinking feeling deep in his gut he realized that this thing that had been Jak, if such things were created from elves turned monsters – that Jak was now the same as Kor and Maia.

This thing was the kid that had marched straight into the Underground a lifetime ago together with his loudmouthed pet, and gone from "irritating wannabe" to "surprisingly capable" and onwards to "useful". Until the rumors started pouring in, about the monster. At first Torn had deemed them as the next media craze, probably just some metal head that got into the city and scared a few people… but eventually, it became too much and he confronted Jak about it, demanding to get the deal straight.

Jak never, ever told people about what had happened to him in the Baron's prison, not without persuasion bordering on blackmail. It had taken a table, a dagger, Daxter and a "We have enough problems as it is, now tell me the fucking truth or I'll skin him alive!" plot to prod those lips apart.

All which had resulted in a demonstration, because Jak had not liked that persuasion at all. Amazing really, that he had not lost it right there and trashed the HQ. But no, instead he produced a promise to explain – somewhere between all the cursing and threats going the both ways. And as soon as a very much traumatized Daxter was back on his shoulder Jak dragged the angry commander into the night of Haven.

… and found a convenient patrol of Krimzon Guards.

It had taken him less than a minute, because they never saw it coming.

_"Happy now? _This_ is what Praxis did! This is what- what-!"_

Broken words, a shuddering form of a man slumped against a wall, painting the concrete with the blood smeared over his clothes. Dying screams still ringing in the back of Torn's head as he stared at this thing that returned to something more human with obvious pain – and the sickly comical effect added by the strange little creature perched on the monster's and man's shoulder, hugging himself as his friend shuddered beneath him.

Torn had not been able to reply then, only turned and walked away. Fled.

The next day he could formulate an order for another mission, hiding behind the safety of his role as a commander – but seeing Jak walk out had been one of the greatest reliefs in his life. Just knowing that this… thing was too skilled for the Underground to let go of. It scared him, it scared everyone – but they needed it. It was too valuable. Too useful.

And from there, despite what he knew – what they all knew – building a careful alliance that slowly evolved into mutual respect – and it had become a relief to see Jak returning instead of leaving. Yet that had still taken hours and hours of repeating the fact that the man was not a monster, that he could control it… right?

They all had to believe that.

But now that person was in front of Torn again, this time in no way a man anymore. This was more a monster than Dark Jak ever could have been. Docile for the moment, perhaps only due to exhaust from the battle. But metal heads never remained in one position for long, not when they knew that within reach there was soft flesh to tear apart.

This thing was not Jak. It would have mutilated, violated a dead body without a second thought if nobody had stopped it. Even with something so apparently evil as Maia, that was something that Jak never would have done. To kill her should have been enough.

Torn could only watch it. They all did. Waiting for something to happen.

Waiting for somebody to make it okay again. To bring Jak back.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Damas stepped forwards, leaving the group of the living behind as he crossed the expanse of hard ground. The metal head remained silent, unmoving.

Nobody said anything.

Eventually the ghost stood before the giant, close as he had been when he first appeared. Never did he look away from the unmoving face above.

"Look at me, Jak," he said.

The huge head turned, sluggishly. It stopped as its nose pointed towards the ghost, so it was probably watching the owner of the commanding voice. Where the complete darkness of those eyes turned could be anybody's guess.

But despite the movement, Damas' hand whipped through the air.

"Didn't you hear me?" he snarled, "look at me, Mar!"

With a sharp snort the beast drew back and the heavy eyelids slammed down a few times. It shook its head, the blinking becoming more furious.

And then between two blinks, a flash of blue passed by between the ends of nothingness. Another few blinks and suddenly Jak's eyes stared down at the ghost and the warriors, huge and disturbingly blue against the black armor.

He drew in a shuddering breath, the sound flinging about the cavern like rolling thunder.

"You…"

It might have been a groan with a normal voice, but this one rumbled far too deeply for that. The single word marched on after the breath, bouncing about the darkness.

"That's better," Damas said, voice mingling into the dulling echo.

Jak said nothing, only stared down at the ghost and the people behind him. Uncertain. Confused.

For a moment Damas lowered his head, and finally he gave it a slow shake. When he looked up and spoke again, there was no humor in his tone despite what he said.

"Who knew that you were such a kid that youcalled for your dad when things got hairy…"

A slow, sluggish blink. A hand shifted, the massive weight moving across the ground until the huge claws were close enough to touch. Still watching the beast intently, Damas reached out and placed a sketchy hand on the black panzer. This time, the voice was softer.

"My hearing is quite good, kid. Even when I'm about to die."

The heavy breathing shuddered. It was not quite a sob, but very close.

And then it spoke again.

"It hurts… father..."

The blue eyes rolled as the massive neck bent, gaze finally falling to linger on the hand splayed across the ground.

"I know, Mar. I know."

Silence hung in the air as the echo of Damas' all too blank voice faded away. Too little emotion in it, too much forced down. Enough of it to make it clear that he was as unsure about what to do as everyone else.

"Jak!"

The voice whipped at them all, Jak's huge head snapping upwards. He blinked at the orange dot on the ground, the one that scampered forwards while waving its scrawny arms.

"Stop it with the angsty bull already!"

Never once hesitating, Daxter crossed the expanse of black floor, coming up to Damas' feet. But he did not even stop there. He crouched his back, and leaped onto a finger bigger than Jak's normal leg size.

"Remember what old mossman told you about anger management, buddy?" the ottsel yapped on, thrusting an accusing finger towards the silent giant, "happy thoughts, man, happy thoughts!"

Jak was not the only one who slowly blinked this time.

"What," Damas finally said, "are you going on about?"

Daxter shook his head without taking his eyes off Jak. He spoke, ignoring the growl that began to form within the massive throat.

"Big boy used to be mute, y'know? You gotta learn to read him. And right now he's talking some serious crap with his old Jak-speak."

Jaws longer than a man's arm flashed between black lips as the blue eyes widened in something akin to panic. Fingers bent, sending the ottsel sliding down onto the back of the gigantic hand. He eeped as he went, but as soon as the movement stopped the fuzzball was back on his feet and stubbornly looking up at his transformed buddy.

"Daxter-!"

A rumbling growl, so clearly a warning, and yet Daxter stood firm. Anybody positioned as close as Damas could see the hairs on his back standing straight up, but other than that the ottsel forced himself to remain steadfast. He did not see the small twitch of the ghost's lips.

"I can't believe… I just can't believe you went and said something like 'in the end, this is all I am'," Daxter said, and even the smallest speck of amusement died.

The air seemed to drop a few degrees. The other hand clenched, and it looked as if Jak was about to raise it. But he finally just snarled and shook his head.

"Two years… listening…"

There was a growl, and for a second darkness swirled in Jak's eyes before he violently blinked it away, even though his black brows crept further and further down.

"… listening to voices… talking behind my screaming-"

His gaze shifted, and the upper lip drew back from a row of very big, very sharp teeth. Another growl, accompanied with that look, sent the Blue Guards recoiling. Torn nearly stepped in between them and Jak out of pure instinct.

Are metal heads, perchance, completely color blind?

Luckily for them all, Daxter managed to catch Jak's interest again before anything to prove the color theory occurred. With wide hand motions and his words, the ottsel called the focus back to himself.

"Who're you listening to, man?" he shouted, "let's crack it down."

He held up his right hand and bent one finger as he continued:

"There's Praxis. Oh yeah, big fat wad of pure ego who thought that risking the existence of the _whole frikkin' place_ was a great idea for getting rid of the metal heads."

Jak watched him, and so did everyone else. Daxter went on, and another finger bent.

"And Veger. That one speaks for himself. Do I need to clarify how much of a crackpot that dude is?"

He gave a vague wave in the other ottsel's general direction. Nobody even bothered to register the meek attempt at a protest. People who are on the verge of a mental breakdown seldom manage to formulate themselves properly.

Next finger down.

"And Erol. Freak in a box, buddy. You can't go bothering about a guy who sat in front of the whole town and shouted 'I want _you_' at ya. It just hurts your head!"

This silence weighed a ton. Torn and his troops perfectly felt the blank looks they got, returning them with glares.

Finally Damas bent forwards and looked at Daxter. Just looked.

"What?" the ghost said.

Daxter glanced at him and pulled a face.

"I have no frikkin' idea."

But as he spoke the simple sentence, his ears began to droop once more. That was a very hard look he got, and he was starting to realize that he might just have said too much in his attempts to get Jak's attention.

"Huh."

Damas straightened up again, eyes narrowing as he studied the huge metal head.

"Mar?" he said.

The voice was strange this time, in the same short word sharp and soft. That kind that only Damas could use in his typical like-hell-I'm-worried-style.

"I don't-"

Jak breathed in deeply, eyes suddenly widening. Normal-sized teeth clenched as specks of darkness spread out across the white and blue and the voice deepened further as he stumbled over the words.

"Don't know- what do you- _you_-!"

Another growl swallowed the words completely and the black blotches exploded in size. Nervous gazes flew among the elves and Daxter, hands clenching around weapons once more.

"Mar!"

Damas raised his hand, fingers splayed out against empty air as if ready to hold the giant back. The huge head violently shook, desperate flares of blue flicking between the dark pools.

"_What do you know_?"

Jak's voice was almost completely gone this time, the growl rising up in a roar as he heaved himself further upwards. Daxter tumbled onto the ground, staring up at his friend with wide eyes. The behemoth ignored him, face turning from the ghost to the warriors and back again as his rumbling shook the cavern. Only Damas managed to keep from recoiling at least one step.

"I'm just _useful_, right?" the beast howled, "all of you- all of you-"

He cut himself off, freezing painfully in the middle of the sentence. Then he suddenly collapsed and smashed his face into the ground, the tremor felt all the way up to the wall where most people now stood.

Jak straightened up again, the darkness seeping away from his normal eyes. But there was a tiredness there now, heavy lids hovering over the blue irises. The skull gem only served to illuminate this, its shine only seeming to increase at the rate of everyone's pulse.

"I have to keep… reminding myself…" he croaked.

Even when calmer, the voice had the same growl as before. It was still deepening.

"… reminding myself why I don't want to- kill you."

The slight pause before "kill" indicated that perhaps there had been another verb in mind. The jaws showing all the while he spoke did not help this idea.

He raised his hand to his chest, where the light was steadily fading. Only a handful of thin cracks remained. Stale eyes followed his every movement.

"The eco is… if you don't kill me now," Jak growled, "I'll f-forget."

His claws dug into the ground, creating a nasty cracking sound as his fist clenched around and pulverized chunks of black rock. Pebbles and sand fell between his fingers.

"And I'll co-come out there… there's no hope unless…"

He fell silent, closing his eyes for a moment. The blue still remained when he opened them again, but the breathing kept getting heavier.

"Jak…"

The huge head turned away, slowly shaking. He could not look down at Daxter, the tiny speck of color shrinking backwards on the ground before the clenched hand.

Still Damas stood silent, his hand raised just as before. He seemed more like a statue than a ghost, now.

"Fuck!"

The curse ripped the tension, as the slam as the butt of a Peace Maker rammed into the ground.

"Weren't you some champion of the precursors?" Sig roared, "what about the white eco?"

Jak shook his head again, more violently this time – as if he was trying to keep his mind clear.

"I don't know-!"

His breath suddenly caught, a rasp and another shake. The eyes widened in protest, but it changed nothing. Like a rising tide the void began to fill up Jak's gaze once more, from the black panzer just beneath his eyes.

He heaved himself further upwards, as if he thought that getting higher would give them all a little more time. But nothing helped, the dark border kept moving at the same pace. The free hand clanged against the skull gem as he clutched his head.

"It's taking me somewh- you have to- Dax, move!" he croaked, the broken phrases just barely making it past his lips before the harsh breathing turned into a growl.

Nobody raised their weapons at first. Precious seconds swept away, but even as the snarl deepened Torn could not bring his arms to move. Everything he knew about war and battle screamed at him, but still he could only stare up at that thing and the knowledge that it was Jak and there was nothing they could do. He just could not move. In the corner of his eye he saw Sig stand frozen, fingers twitching slightly. And when neither of their leaders did anything, the other warriors remained trapped in their hesitation as well.

Then finally Damas moved, as the metal head smashed its other hand into the ground and buried its fingers in the stone.

The shimmering hand moved in an arc until it hovered in the air to the right of the king's head. Father's hand raised for the son as the last fragment of blue vanished in the wave of black.

Armor clinking as the arms beneath moved. Clicks. Buzzing.

All that, heard painfully well through the rising howl.

Daxter had collapsed on the ground before the monster, staring up at the abomination that had been his best friend. He did not make a sound anymore.

Damas turned his face away, and his hand fell.

Triggers were pulled.

Bullets rammed into the slick black chest and the metal head shot upwards in a wave of armor and muscle, howl rearing into an enraged roar. The hands dug into the ground tore themselves free, ripping chunks of rock with them that slammed into the walls of the cavern. Daxter scrambled backwards in a panic but the ghost stood firm, looking up at the gigantic claws coming towards him.

Then a rough dozen flares spiraled through the air.

The hand descending on Damas were flung backwards, rage becoming pain in that clear instant the first deadly star hit the armored neck and exploded. The metal head swayed, nothing left to prop him up with as both arms were ripped away from the ground – but those same spasms forced him further upwards though his legs would not carry, back arching impossibly and he just would not stop roaring.

Searing light crawled all over him, finding its way beneath the armor to the hard skin and frying him from inside in those stretching seconds that the beast struggled and refused to let death claim him. For a fleeting moment it looked as if the violent light was aiding the last remaining cracks on the huge chest, and in that all too short second Torn almost dared to hope that maybe, just maybe there would be another miracle. Maybe that armor would just crack like a shell and Jak would tumble out, refusing the bleakest of fates just one more time.

But the snakes of electricity went away, taking the last light with them.

Only darkness remained as the roar finally stumbled, and the flares faltered.

He swayed.

Then with one last, animalistic groan, the metal head fell.

Fell as the roar died away, just like he had done such a short while ago after the transformation was made complete.

The impact shook the cavern once more, the heavy slump landing him alongside the eco lake, back turned to Maia's corpse. A gigantic hand landed inside the gaping holes he had torn from the ground moments earlier.

The skull gem fell out of its socket, miserably falling onto the floor and skidding several feet away from the unmoving head. The crisp sound of the impact and the slide went on and on, mingling with the remaining echo of the dying roar.

Sig's Peace Maker fell out of his hands. Huge, calloused hands trembling as he reached up and pressed them to his face, pinching his eyes tightly shut. He felt a hand swinging his shoulder panzer, but could not look Kleiver in the eye.

There were no miracles.

The ghost just stood there, by the fallen giant's hand. Leaning on his weapon and head bowed, blind to the ottsel curled into a tight ball on the ground behind him. Daxter's arms were pressed against his skull while the fuzzy face remained hidden against his stomach as if he was trying to block out the reality around him.

Armors dully clanged. Backs stretched as the men and women lowered their weapons and looked around at each other, uncertain glances wide open or hidden beneath the safety of helmets.

Torn let out a deep breath and rammed the butt of his gun into the ground, putting his entire weight on the weapon. It was a sign of weakness, but he just did not care anymore. He needed something to lean on.

"Bloody hell-!"

He snapped up at the hiss, eyes narrowing as he watched that useless ghost move. Then the commander blinked and did a double take, noting just where Damas was going – and going quickly. The emerald feet hardly touched the floor as he rushed forwards, raising his Peace Maker above his head as if it was a mere club.

And that was precisely how he used it, slamming it into the smooth surface of the large skull gem. The sound was surprising, because there was no smash. Instead there was a soft hissing as the Peace Maker evaporated into a cloud of eco, being sucked inside the gem as Damas staggered from the force of his own strike. Then a sharp, drawn-out crack, like an entire tree bending and breaking in a storm.

From the place where the blow had fallen shot a searing white fissure shot across the egg shaped rock. Cursing under his breath Damas rammed his fingers into it and snarled as his entire shape flickered dangerously. For a moment it looked as if he too would fall to pieces, but he snapped back into a more distinct silhouette with a resolute twist of his neck.

"Your lordship?" Kleiver called.

No reply. Damas ignored him and the other few calls, muscles that did not really exist tensing as he struggled against the gem. The cracking got louder.

Sig took a step forwards, hesitated, then continued. He was only the first one.

With a half-strangled shout Damas tore the skull gem in two halves, and like melting ice the pieces crumbled into a heap of glowing shards before him.

Steps that had been uncertain sped up, and others joined them. The ghost made no sound as he sank onto one knee and began sweeping the sharp remains aside, digging through the rubble in his search for something.

Hope reared up and flickered again, because that heap was hardly big enough to conceal a fully grown elf – that was certain.

Daxter made it to Damas' side just when the ghost tensed. Sig halted behind the glowing back as emerald hands reached into the debris.

"You street-smart little…"

Damas shifted, and shards clattered against the ground as he pulled his arms to his chest and stood up. He turned around and feet stopped dead so suddenly that the last warriors almost fell over each other as they saw what the clouds of eco had hidden. There was another silence.

A very much stunned silence.

Damas said nothing, only watched the small shape he carried safely in his grip.

"Uh… huh," Torn finally managed.

He reached up and placed a hand on his forehead. Something was spinning in there, and he really would have wanted to sit down – if his pride as a commander had allowed that much.

"Ja… Jak?" Daxter stuttered.

He could not get as proper a view as the others, but he could see what it was Damas held.

The ghost's lips stretched as he shifted his grip slightly, pressing a hand to the frail little skull resting on his arm. A thin layer of delicate hair covered the head shadowed by stubby, pointy ears. The hair was most probably greenish in hue even without the emerald shimmer that Damas shed across the immediate area. Tiny little hands laid clenched on the bare chest, tubby legs pulled up against the stomach. Eyes closed as if asleep, and one of those miniature thumbs really should have been resting between the thin lips to make the picture complete.

"I doubt that he fully knew what was happening," Damas said, idly stroking a soft cheek with his thumb, "but judging from one of those last things he said my guess is that the white eco tried to preserve him."

_"It's taking me somewh-"_

Sig finally found his voice again, after a lot of searching.

"But he's- a…"

Oh yes, that was dignified. He simply could not go on, only stare in utter blankness at the enigma before them.

Damas looked down and studied the baby boy's peaceful face. Green lips curled into something akin to a fond smirk.

"Yes," he said, "this won't do."

Nothing seemed to happen at first; Damas only shifted his grip slightly. Daxter noticed the change first, thanks to the level of his eyes.

The ottsel raised his hands in a weak protest.

"Ah, that's not…"

Gazes glued to the baby were dragged away by Daxter's voice, and they saw what he saw.

Damas legs were loosing their already questionable sharpness, melting into wisps of eco and leaving only a skeletal shadow behind. The clouds meanwhile swirled upwards-

"No!"

Torn flung his hands forwards, seeing other fingers scratch the air desperately as the ghost only stood there, holding the helpless baby as the mix of white and green eco sped towards him.

But they could not move fast enough.

The eco seeped into the baby's body and he shifted, one chubby arm falling off the soft stomach to hang motionlessly in the air just beneath him. The people diving for his aid stopped, expecting a wail of pain and new black armor to cover the small body.

There was only a sigh, no wail. Instead of skin hardening into cold panzer, the hanging hand unclenched and the baby squirmed while his limbs and body stretched out, growing. The hair thickened into fluttering green locks falling across his skull.

He settled back again, eyes never opening even as he stopped developing. The small chest slowly heaved with calm breaths.

The first cloud of eco had been absorbed, but Damas paused there instead of letting the transformation continue, just watching the child he held. He watched something more precious than anything else in the entire world, that had been mercilessly robbed from him.

Sig watched too, but he saw a failure of his own. Kleiver and the other wastelanders looked upon something they had not fully believed true, but now found themselves paranormally faced with.

Torn merely saw a familiar face he had spent a good deal of time being irritated at. Some of his soldiers recognized it as well.

And Daxter saw the first glimpse he ever had of his best friend, long before everything went to hell.

Seconds trickled by on their way into the past, filling almost an entire minute before Damas moved again. He straightened up and gave the silent troops a wistful half-smile.

"Get something for him to wear," he said.

Only blank looks answered him at first, until his waist began to dissolve. The eco spread and swept into the boy who once more sighed… and grew.

"Yikes!" Daxter exclaimed as his brain finally clicked.

That made an excellent signal, jolting the warriors back to reality. Or well, the very strange reality they currently found themselves in. But Daxter was skittering across the ground before anybody else could make a suggestion.

He kept his eyes set on his goal, never looking at the gigantic carcass of the metal head still occupying most of the scenery.

It was uncanny, but he headed for the sad pile of ripped clothes that were left of Jak's last set of equipment. The shirt and pants were ripped to shreds and the sprawled leather straps were useless – but the red scarf had slid off in two halves as the growing neck had strained it to break. Daxter grabbed the cloth and swept the pieces above his head in two wide arcs of red, making sure that there were no eco left in the folds.

Satisfied with the results he hurried back with the cloth trailing behind him. He was just in time to see the small boy reach his early teens.

A gangly and scrawny young teenager, with hands looking far too big for him. The tips of his hair had begun to turn blonde, and the curls were straightening out in pure defiance of gravity. The shape of his chin and cheekbone also changed slightly, and now the spectators could see the similarity more and more clearly.

Damas arms were almost gone, and as Daxter approached he sunk down on his knees, letting the boy slide onto the ground. But he still supported the growing shoulders, holding the blond shock of poofy hair against his diffusing chest. Torn grabbed the broken scarf from Daxter and quickly threw the cloth over Jak's waist. The ghost never spared a glance at anybody but the growing boy.

Jak finally stopped stretching out, and instead his muscles began to swell. Rough strength gained from hours of running in the sand, swimming and beating up the occasional vicious animal made itself known once again.

The hair stood out from the top of his head in a shock of green and yellow and he was just about to reach young adulthood.

Daxter watched in silence, struggling with his wish to beg Damas to stop and let Jak remain as he was now – the person who had dragged a friend to Misty Island, the person who died in the Baron's prison. But he knew it just did not work that way.

Damas was almost gone, only a few puffs of eco and his thin outline remaining. At the next supplement of eco Jak suddenly groaned, neck twisting in a weak protest while green strands of hair sprouted from his chin to cover it up. Simultaneously the hair on his head lost its strength and flopped down, soft curls splaying across the transparent arm supporting him.

This young man they all recognized, because he had stormed into their lives and turned everything upside down by saving them all. Not to mention supplied a good deal of grief in the last couple of hours.

A dissolving hand came to Jak's cheek, tilting his head slightly upwards. The fingers could hardly be seen anymore.

"Stay alive, Mar," Damas murmured.

And with that the last sketchy remains of the ghost evaporated, drawn inside the fully grown body. Jak slumped to the floor without making a single sound. His chest continued to rise as he breathed, but that was all.

Daxter was the first one by his side, though heavy boots closed in rapidly.

"Jak?"

Poking did not seem to yield any result. The ottsel tried it just a couple of more times before deciding that the heavy artillery was in order.

A satisfying "ouff!" left Jak's lips as the small body hopped onto his bare chest.

"Contact established!"

Daxter grinned up at the men squatting down around the unmoving form.

"Heh!" Sig snorted at the ottsel.

He reached out a gloved hand and carefully slapped Jak's cheek.

"Hey, chili pepper. Wake up."

"Mmf…"

Grins widened with relief as they all heard the groan. Daxter, on the other hand, closed in.

The blue eyes fluttered open, and blinked a couple of times before finally focusing on the fuzzy face hovering above them. Lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Come on, Jak, say something!" Daxter said, resting his paws on the chin sporting a trendy goatee.

Jak's brow creased as he drew in a deep breath, Daxter almost tumbling forwards as his perch heaved upwards. The words when they came were spoken in a hoarse voice -lacking that normal force the whole sentence warped and became nothing but a farce of itself.

"I'm… gonna kill Praxis…"

Even more so when the lips stretched in a weak smirk at the look on the ottsel's face.

"Sorry, he's already dead."

Torn came into sight behind Daxter's head, a grin working its way onto his tattooed face while soft chuckles rose up in the background.

"Well piece him back together so I can kill the bastard properly…" Jak muttered, "damn Kor…"

The commander cocked an eyebrow.

"You haven't lost your memory, have you?" he said, suspiciously.

Jak slowly blinked.

"No," he finally muttered, "I remember. Maia… ugh…"

A heavy hand crashed over his eyes.

"Feels like she threw me through a meat grind," he said.

"Well that sure aint showin', poppy."

With a disgusted sound, Kleiver grabbed the arm Jak had managed to move and lifted it for inspection.

"Just look at that," the big man snorted, "jus' like a widdle baby."

Even in this poor illumination, it seemed as if it was a true sentiment. All of Jak's scars were gone – not that it was that surprising, considering all. And they all knew that Kleiver had no trouble picking those particular words, either.

Jak grimaced.

"You talking to me?" he grunted.

Kleiver just smirked and let go of the arm, giving the blonde head a light punch. The head in question rolled aside with the impact, sluggishly returning to the previous position a moment later.

"Anyway!" Daxter said and grinned wider as Jak looked at him, "happy birthday?"

A hand came up and lurched towards the ottsel, but the movement was so slow that Daxter had no trouble avoiding it. Jak did not try to pursue him further. He sighed again, head lolling to the side. He gave Torn, Sig and the others on that side of him a somewhat hard look – or it would have been if his eyes had not been half closed.

"I'm okay…" he murmured, "no funny busine… ugh…"

And with that his eyes rolled upwards and he passed out again.

"Pansy…" Torn muttered.

He received a healthy dose of chuckles for that comment, but ignored them. Just to make sure he pulled off his glove and checked on Jak's pulse, finally nodding in satisfaction. He stood up, only to realize that they still had a problem.

Silence fell as more and more of them came to the same conclusion.

It spells "oh crap".

Daxter had no boundaries like that, though.

"Okay," he cheerfully said, "who feels like bringing homicidal wrath upon themselves?"

There was a pause, filled with hesitant glares. Finally Sig sighed and shifted closer to the blonde.

"Oy, Jak, you awake?"

The eyelids fluttered, but that was all. That was probably good.

Still, Sig did not feel like taking chances about this one.

"Okay," he said, "just don't go shooting at me for this later, got that?"

No reaction. With neither agreement nor protest offered, Sig decided that it was all fine. He leant forwards, gently hooking one arm beneath Jak's knees and the other behind the smaller warrior's shoulders.

Jak's head unconsciously rolled into the crook of Sig's arm and chest as the wastelander stood up.

"There's no way he won't kill you when he wakes up, you know," Torn said, smirking as Sig glared at him.

"Shaddup, if I didn't have these spikes I'd fling him over my shoulder."

"Aww, come on, Siggy!" Daxter smirked as he clambered up to claim just that shoulder for his perch, in the wait of something better.

Muttering under his breath Sig turned and began walking towards the exit. This was obviously something that everybody agreed on being a great idea, since every last elf followed him.

Kleiver was the only one who paused on the way out, once to pick up Jak's chest armor and another time to grab the passed out Veger before leaving the scene of nightmares behind.

* * *

Author's note: I, ah… was about to cut this chapter by "Triggers were pulled", but… I just didn't have the heart. You had been through too much already, my sweets.  
Now excuse me, my Masters aren't happy with my softening heart, so I gotta dash before they find me. 


	13. Epilogue

_Author's note: _Well, finally! Love ya'll, and now I'll stop torturing you with this one. Tata!

Epilogue

"… father…"

"Close, but no."

Something soft and pleasantly cool patted its way across his forehead and down to his cheek. Jak groaned, prying one eye open. It took him a while to make out anything in the warm dusk, but finally his vision grew used to the offered light. Thin beams of sunlight broke through the blinds of the windows a couple of yards away, but overall the leather curtains managed to keep the room mercifully safe from the most intense radiance.

The dampness continued to nurse his hot face.

He slowly blinked a few times, finally managing to take in the silhouette beside him. It did not help at first, not before his eyes adjusted enough to make out details in the poor illumination.

"I'm glad you're awake, Mar."

With a sigh Elda leant back for a moment, lifting the hand holding her current tool. A bowl of water stood on the table beside her, and she lowered the damp cloth into it. The trickle of drops falling into the water's surface was the only sound for a while, as she wrung most of the liquid back out.

"You've been out of it for a while," she said, leaning back to press the cloth to his forehead again, "how do you feel?"

"Mmf."

Elda nodded to herself. The silence stretched out as she gently kept stroking Jak's face with the cloth, but neither felt bothered about the lack of words. There were more important things to focus on.

A warm breeze from outside caused the curtains to lazily wave, for a few moments making the room clearer. It was quite big, but sparsely decorated. Jak idly took note of a couple of chairs, a table and a shelf full of scrolls, before the curtains fell back and his disturbed dark vision returned to obscurity for a couple of minutes.

Seconds slipped by at their own pace.

It took a while before Jak even started to hear the squeaking breathing – the lapse of time due to his exhaust and the familiarity of the sound. It seemed like Daxter was asleep somewhere nearby, not too far from Jak's head. Probably curled up on another pillow…

The affirmation of his friend's closeness almost managed to make the tired warrior smile. Good ol' Daxter. Where would a hero be without his blabbering sidekick…

Wait, why was he here at all?

He felt weak and exhausted, but above that, he felt clean. Every puff of humid wind across the half of his body not covered by the thin blanket, every stroke of Elda's cloth were felt so softly that in compare he could have believed that his skin used to be made of leather. The usually tense muscles in his neck and back laid relaxed and even his breathing felt gentler than before, air caressing his throat like silk.

Something was gone.

Bit by bit the memories begun to seep back into his mind. He studied them with a sense of calm that surprised him, thoughtfully turning the scenes over inside his head. Again his whole body recalled those burning moments when the eco twisted and warped him, when the explosions from his friends' weapons burnt and killed him.

But he did not even wince, even as he replayed the memories over and over. They felt far away, so far away that they had stopped hurting.

Maybe he was just too exhausted to feel properly shocked.

Experimentally, he dug deeper into his mind and dove into hours of agony and horror, Praxis' face hovering above him with a furious snarl, Erol smirking, lonely nights curled up in a cell dreaming of things long gone.

Nothing. He knew it all had happened, but all those things he had not dared touching before, knowing that the pain could drive him insane… they were simply there, nothing else. They could do nothing.

He closed his eyes.

_Damas' dead body, father is dead and he never knew… I never knew…_

No rush of rage, no darkness filling his mind – only sadness. Calm, normal sadness that allowed mourning instead of denial, mourning that in turn would allow the pain to pass.

_"My hearing is quite good, kid. Even when I'm about to die."_

His lips curled slightly in relief.

'It wasn't my fault,' slipped through his mind.

No, it had never been, now had it? He knew that, now.

Elda lifted the cloth from his face to refresh the water again. As she returned to her work she let out a soft sigh.

"You just keep bringing the strangest tales," she said.

Jak opened his eyes and watched her silhouette in the dusk.

"Though I never thought the day would come when Kleiver told ghost stories," she added, mirthless smile apparent in her voice.

"… sorry."

"For what?"

Despite everything a tired smile crept onto Jak's lips at the familiar exchange. Elda turned her hand over, pressing the back of it instead of the cloth against his cheek.

"I'll just try to suspend disbelief and be happy that you're alright."

Jak tried to shift, finding that his body weighed a ton. Letting out a sigh he stopped trying and accepted his fate – for now. He simply did not have the energy right then.

"I… don't know what happened," he muttered.

Another sigh, deep breath flowing out of Elda's mouth as she sat back, hands resting on her lap.

"Wish I could have seen him, but it cannot be helped. I think I'd rather have passed on the rest though."

Jak pursed his lips, trying to think of something to say. The silence lingered until Elda bent forwards again, placing a cool hand on his forehead as her voice dropped to a soothing murmur.

"I know, Mar, they told me. Let's just try not to think about it for now."

"… thanks."

"You're welcome."

His lips stretched a little too as he heard the wry smile in her voice. There was a soft sound as she dropped the piece of cloth beside the bowl of water, and her hand moved. Carefully her arms snaked beneath his shoulders and neck as she bent over him, lifting his heavy body slightly against her own. Jak would have returned the hug if he could have moved his arms, but Elda soon straightened up and let go.

"Your friends from Haven are on their way," she said, "they should be here in an hour or so."

Jak frowned.

"Is everyone alright?" he asked.

"Yes. Though…"

She placed her chin in her unhurt hand.

"… Sig mumbled something about death sentences and the man with the dreadlocks said he wasn't going to interfere if his men wanted to get alcohol poisoning."

A small chuckle managed to make its way through Jak's exhaust. While there were no memories of it since he had been unconscious, there was a full realization. Sig would pay. Nothing personal.

But the laugh stirred something. A thin yawn, smacking of fuzzy lips and-

"Jak!"

One ottsel latched onto neck.

"Oh man don't you ever do something like that again it was the freakiest thing I've ever seen and that's saying something sheez seriously but you're okay now right? Really okay? 'Cause you've been asleep for ages and we started to think you'd never wake up-"

"Dax… can't… breathe…!"

"Uhm… oops."

The stranglehold eased up and the fuzzy weight settled just beneath Jak's collarbones. He raised an eyebrow at the thin silhouette while Elda chuckled in the background.

"Why are you freaking out _now_?" the blonde asked.

Daxter waved a paw in the air, a dismissive move.

"Post traumatic tranquility back there, babe," he said, "now I'm _calm_."

A tiny, furry finger jabbed at Jak's chin.

"And if you ever pull that kind'a crap again I'll kick your ass!"

Smirking in the dusk, Jak tried moving his hands. The fingers slipped against each other, skin as soft as the summer breeze.

"… don't think I could," he murmured.

"I bloody well hope so!" Daxter said.

"Hm."

Jak turned his head, finding that he still could not move very much. But it was coming back, little by little. He could feel that, among other things.

A confused memory swirled around in his head, of the darkness slouching around him and only dragging him further down the more he struggled – but there was a speck of light, that he reached for desperately and held on to. But it was frail, so weak that even though it struggled it could not pull him out. Yet he would not let go and it kept fighting, until it knew it held a small part of him – he sunk into darkness, but the light pulled something tiny, a seed, into the cold glow of the skull gem. It could only save so much, the rest was swallowed by the dark eco.

A frightening concept, and it was unpleasant. But just as the other memories, it could not do anything more than that. There was something important about that desperate escape.

Elda's long ears visibly perked up at the first word, as unused to hearing it as he was to saying it.

"Mother, could you call Seem to check on me?" Jak said.

"Right away."

She bent down and picked up her staff from the floor, supporting herself on it as she stood. The dull clack of wood against stone accompanied her unsteady steps across the room, and a door soon opened. The flickering light of torches cascaded into the room and set Elda's worn figure aglow as she exchanged a few quick words with the tall wastelander standing guard outside. A nod from him, and his boots echoed against the floor of the corridor as he headed off to find the high monk.

With vague interest Jak ran his gaze across the room in the new light, not finding anything new but trying to figure out just where they were. Obviously in Spargus, but the room was far bigger than the simple homes the wastelanders normally used. Far too much furniture, while it really was nothing in Haven standards. A suspicion began to grow.

"This place is…?" he started.

The rest of the sentence hung in the air while Elda closed the door.

"Uhm…" Daxter started, a nervous chuckle lodged in his throat.

Elda staggered back towards her chair.

"Damas' room," she said.

She sat down, laying the staff onto the floor with a dull clatter. Straightening up she looked at Jak's shadowed form on the bed, mirthless smile invisible on her split lips.

"Does that disturb you?" she asked.

A brief pause before Jak slowly shook his head.

"No…"

He just did not have the nerve. Maybe later.

"Good..." Elda murmured.

"You should'a just heard 'em when we got back," Daxter started up, "Torn got a hover sent up the volcano so he and Sig could bring you here quickly. Ya could almost think Sir Dread-a-lock was worried or something."

Jak snorted, grinning in the dusk.

"He knew we'd paint the desert with him and his men if you didn't make it back," Elda said.

She chuckled slightly and reached backwards. Glass clattered against stone.

"Do you want some water?" she asked.

Jak felt a small stitch of unease when he still could not sit up without support, Elda having to wrap an arm around his shoulders to steady him while she pressed a glass to his lips. But he could push the thoughts away, something that felt only mildly surprising. After a few gulps he finally managed to raise his hand and hold the glass himself, though Elda kept her grip close enough to make sure that he would not drop it.

A knock on the door made all three of them look up. The wood moved only so much that the opening would allow passage, and a short figure stepped inside on silent feet. For a moment the torchlight flitted over the orange plate armor and the white, painted face before a small hand pushed the door closed and returned the cool dusk.

"I am relieved to see you alive and well, hero."

The last word no longer held the sarcasm it once had.

"Hey, Seem," Jak murmured as he lowered the glass.

Elda took it from his grip and put it back on the bed table without a word. As the blonde laid down again, Daxter leant in and announced in a far too loud whisper just by Jak's ear:

"Hate to tell ya buddy, but Sig said miss Weirdo gave him the light eco he threw at ya back there."

He spoke it with no less mocking than usual, but there was no mistaking the gratefulness in the ottsel's voice.

"Figures."

Jak smiled a little, looking at the shadow of Seem.

"I'll pay you back when I can walk," he said, "but right now I'd like to make sure of something."

The monk stepped forwards, coming up beside Elda without a word. She never seemed to even wonder what Jak meant, silently reaching out into the empty air above the bed.

Seem's fingers bent and straightened, forming her hand into peculiar positions. Finally her pointing and middle finger stretched up alone, the others held down in a loose clench. She pressed the side of her hand against her face while her soft voice floated into the dusky air.

"You have guessed well," she murmured.

The brief pause could not be allowed. Daxter's paws came down on Jak's shoulder and he leant his small head closer, squinting at the shadows of his friend's face.

"What did you do this time?" the ottsel demanded.

Jak chuckled, slowly shaking his head while Seem spoke again.

"The balance is broken. While darkness still remains, the places it once ruled supreme have been conquered by light," she said.

"I think I can live with that," Jak mumbled.

This time even Daxter had to pause before he could speak again.

"So tall, dark and gruesome is… back there?" he asked, waving his arm at the window.

Jak shook his head again, raising a heavy hand to rest on his forehead.

"No, he's still in here," he said, "just smaller."

Before Daxter could speak again, the sound of hurried footsteps broke through the door, a brief exchange of loud voices and the door swung open to let half an army of people hurry inside. Apart from Samos, who still floated in the air before the exasperated guard's face and snarled most viciously at the far bigger man. Elda stood up while Seem backed off.

"Jak!"

Jak's first thought, a moment before Keira almost fell over him and snaked her arms beneath his neck in a fierce hug, was that he had missed all of them.

The second thought was why in the name of everything sacred they had brought Jinx along. In the light of his cigar, the rough criminal grinned like a madman. It was enough to inform Jak that yes, Torn had told them everything.

This… would be irritating.

But as Keira loosened her grip and stroke his cheek, and Daxter started arguing with Pecker while Tess padded up onto the bed to her boyfriend, and Torn stood in the background beside Ashelin while Samos finished putting the guard in place… Jak was just relieved to see them in the light of torches and not the glow of a skull gem. The smiles on their faces were solid.

He was alive.

The end.


End file.
